


THE CASABLANCA AFFAIR

by Redd2



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-19 12:44:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20657459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redd2/pseuds/Redd2
Summary: (Author’s note: In a geographical sense, the choice of Casablanca as a setting is essential to the way the narrative develops, as all the characters are, in a way, visitors.In the spirit of ‘imitation is the highest form of flattery’ - please enjoy this slightly altered classic.)





	1. Chapter 1

#### PROLOGE 

French Morocco was the unofficial center for global intrigue and information. Often many international power-players came through Morocco because its politics were loose and blind to conventional laws and ethics. War refuges, criminals, and ex-war officials were often found to use this small corner of the post war world to broker deals, transfer money and information, and commit brutal acts figuring correctly that they were outside any law. Those with money, influence, or luck would travel to the port city of Casablanca to complete their illegal, and often violent, deals.

####  Part I -_“I stick my neck out for no one.”_

Napoleon Solo sat comfortably on the airplane bound for Casablanca, Morocco. As Mr. Waverly explained it a German ex-patriot from the war was making his way to Morocco with important information on the names of Thrush currently in power. Solo’s job was to wait in the city of Casablanca, often a way-station for unlawful travelers looking for passage to the United States, and make contact. If possible, he was to attain the information.  


Mr. Waverly explained that the U.N.C.L.E. agent, Illya Kuryakin, was already in Casablanca for the past 3 months on another assignment under cover as the manager to the Café Morocco, as Mr. Nick Banisk. An American in Casablanca might draw too much attention, but Mr. Kuryakin, under his already established cover, would be available to Solo if he needed it. Mr. Kuryakin’s expertise with languages could assure some level of anonymity and improve the odds of getting the information Mr. Solo was tasked with. It was discussed with Mr. Solo that when Mr. Kuryakin was first stationed in France, he was able to garner a few helpful contacts within French Morocco that might prove useful during this assignment. Solo didn’t, however, think he would require any help from the relatively young U.N.C.L.E. agent. He had found Kuryakin, while unusually expert as an agent, was off-putting in his demeanor. Solo just didn’t think he trusted him enough to work with him.  


Mr. Waverly also shared that U.N.C.L.E. sources had heard that Thrush was very interested to make the same contact and kidnap the German traveler at any cost. The Casablanca Police were not to be appraised of U.N.C.L.E.’s presence, Mr. Waverly cautioned, as the exact prejudice of that group was difficult to be determined at this time.  
  


**********

“Professor, here is Mr. Nick’s order.” An older waiter, dressed in a worn black suit let out many times to accommodate his growing circumference, moved easily to the bar to pick up the proffered chilled Vodka and made his way through the many tables of the Café.  


“Oh, waiter.”  


“Yes madam?” The Professor was very popular with the customers of the café.  


“Could you ask Mr. Nick to have a drink with us tonight?” The young lady had visibly over-indulged in drink already and was way over dressed.  


“Oh, madam, Mr. Nick never drinks with customers. I have never seen it.”  


Kuryakin had taken over as Manager for the past-its-prime night club in the center of Casablanca, the Café Morocco. The owner was an often used U.N.C.L.E. confederate. Kuryakin had been assigned several months ago to set up his cover and secure several exit documents needed for another assignment. Several other agents were already under cover on assignment at the Café: the Professor with a carefully hidden intelligence, Emile who was experienced and wiry, Sasha who was young and eager yet handy when it came to trouble, and Sam whom Illya had worked with before and had proven very resourceful.  


For some time now, Kuryakin had felt he had lost himself. The loss in Paris, the betrayal in Berlin, all had turned his mood even more disheartened than was normal for him, his thoughts darker. He found he was questioning his life. His Russian soul seemed to turn to thoughts that an agent could not afford about his dedication and his duty until he was tired to death with the distrust. Thoughts that questioned if he really wanted to continue this fight; a fight that he felt so alone in.  


With these thoughts running through his mind, he watched over the Café activity with a war-weary eye from the second-level loft. Kuryakin could see all the patrons as they came and went.  


**********

Pedro Ugarte was held up at the entrance to the cafe. Emile glanced up at Kuryakin for direction. Illya nodded and Ugarte immediately slinked up to the loft to approach Kuryakin and spoke to him in his native Spanish. Not many knew Spanish in Casablanca and it would help keep their transaction confidential.  


“Senor Nick. The way you keep out the bad sorts,” Ugarte boasted, “it would make me think you have been in Casablanca all your life.”  


Ugarte was a necessary evil, Kuryakin thought. He allowed his presence simply because the nasty man always knew the best information and had the best forged papers. But his closeness always made Kuryakin’s skin crawl.  


“What makes you think I haven’t?” Kuryakin’s eyes kept watch over the always active café doings down below.  


“Oh nothing. I just thought…..”  


Illya/Nick turned his attention to the small man, “You thought what?”  


Ugarte shrank back from the cold look in the intense blue eyes. Hurriedly he said, “Oh Senor, nothing. What right do I have to think, right?” Kuryakin moved back to his desk but said nothing.  


“You despise me, don’t you?”  


Nick didn’t even look up to answer, “If I gave you any thought, I probably would.”  


“Look! I brought the documents you asked for.”  


“Let me see them.” There were two excellent exit visas or Letters of Transit allowing anyone that had them safe passage to the United States. In Morocco they were worth a fortune.  


“I asked for four.”  


“It was not possible, I promise you. I nearly lost my life for these.”  


Kuryakin wondered if someone did, after all, lose their life. He had heard a rumor, one of many floating around Casablanca, of two couriers killed and their belongings ransacked. Documents were missing. Kuryakin sighed, this was not a business for the weak but at times he thought, at the ripe old age of 26, he had already been in the business far too long.  


“They are to your liking? I will leave them with you, si?”  


“Yes. Go to the Professor. He will give you your money.” Ugarte scrambled away down to the main café, happy to be away from the cold man.  


**********

“Hello Nick.” A large older man dressed in a well-fitting white dinner jacket approached Kuryakin who had made his way to the lower floor.  


“Hello Farrari. How is business at the Blue Parrot?” Farrari was Morocco’s equivalent of the Mafia and ran a café known as the Blue Parrot. He was well connected and very powerful in this small part of the world. He had ties to most of the illegal activity that went on in or around Casablanca and was a very dangerous man.  


“Fine, fine. Your business seems to be booming. I would like to buy your café.” Both men locked eyes in this minor battle.  


“It is not for sale.”  


The large man chuckled. Not too many men had the audacity to refuse in such a cold manner. “You haven’t heard my offer.”  


“It is not for sale at any price.” Illya was pretty sure his U.N.C.L.E. would not appreciate his selling their only holding in Morocco.  


“Well then what do you want for Sam?” Illya glanced over at the thin black man sitting at the café’s piano, sweetly laying out soft background music. He was in reality another U.N.C.L.E. agent that had worked with Illya before in Paris and now in Casablanca on this assignment. Illya would have smiled at the offer the agent had just unknowingly earned if he didn’t know that Farrari was serious and deadly. In this town all offers are to be taken seriously.  


“I don’t buy or sell human beings.”  


“Too bad. That’s Casablanca’s leading commodity. With the refugees alone we could make a fortune if you would only work with me through the black market.”  


“Suppose you run your business and let me run mine.”  


Again, the large man chuckled, “Suppose we ask Sam. Maybe he’d like to make a change.”  


“Suppose we do.”  


Both men moved over to the piano where Sam was playing a soft ballad as he watched over the activity throughout the café. Farrari continued to press the mysterious manager of the café. “My dear Nickoli, when will you realize that in this world isolationism is no longer a practical policy?”  


Illya ignored the man. “Sam, Farrari wants you to work for him at the Blue Parrot.”  


The agent looked up at Illya. He had watched the exchange between the Black Marketeer and his fellow agent. Farrari’s reputation was well known and Sam took his job seriously in watching Kuryakin’s back.  


“Oh, I like it just fine right here.” Sam did not miss a beat of the music he was playing.  


“He will double what you are paid here.”  


Sam caught the not-often seen twinkle in the Russian’s eye. He smiled back unable to help himself. “Yeah but I ain’t got time to spend the money I make here.”  


Illya looked back at Farrari. “Sorry.”  


The fat man opened his arms in surrender, smiled, and slowly moved away.  


**********

“There is going to be some excitement here tonight Nick,” Captain Louie Renault, head of Casablanca’s Police Force and militia moved up beside Kuryakin, excited. “We’re going to make an arrest tonight in your café.”  


“What, again?”  


“Oh, this is no ordinary arrest. A murderer no less.”  


Captain Renault was very observant. He saw immediately the recognition hit – Nick knew exactly who would be arrested. That Nick had this knowledge did not surprise the Captain. During the last few months he had observed the new manager of this café and found the young man an enigma. He observed him to be intelligent and unusually fair with his café business. Word on the street was that he conducted his other business dealings the same way. Most unusual in Casablanca but Nick had quite a reputation for ruthlessness and fair dealing – not an easy balance. The Captain wasn’t sure what to make of this man but he would merit close watching.  


“If your thinking of warning him – don’t put yourself out. He cannot possibly escape.”  


Kuryakin observed the Captain, surprised that the man had taken him into his confidence. “Don’t worry Louie. I stick my neck out for no one.”  


“A wise foreign policy.” The Captain agreed but quickly moved to his quarry.  


“Senor Ugarte,” Captain Renault placed himself behind Ugarte making him jump at the discovery.  


“Yes?” he said, his voice shaking.  


“Will you please come with us.”  


Ugarte’s eyes shifted quickly from the Police Captain to the two other officers accompanying him. “Certainly. May I first please cash my chips?”  


The Captain carefully nodded, watching the room and his captive closely.  


Almost caviler, Ugarte walked briskly to the café cashier cage. “Very lucky, eh?” he boasted as he showed Renault his winnings.  


At the cage, Ugarte made a big show of cashing his chips. Then as both he and the Captain began to walk through the café, busy with customers, Ugarte bolted for the back corridor. Through surprise, he made it as far as the back staircase. Captain Renault was first to catch up behind him.  


Shots were fired. Ugarte had the Captain in his sights for an easy shot. Kuryakin slyly placed himself to block by putting his foot out and tripping Ugarte, his shot clipped Illya instead of the Captain. The impact slammed Kuryakin against the wall back into shadow. Emile, watching Illya’s back, banged open a hall door knocking Ugarte out before he could get another shot off. Captain Renault quickly picked up Ugarte’s gun, his eyes locked on the café manager and the waiter in surprise at the unexpected help. The rest of the Police force came into the now crowded hall and dragged the unconscious Ugarte out.  


“I told you I stick my neck out for no one.” Kuryakin repeated as he brushed past the Captain and returned quickly to his office upstairs. Emile followed him so that he could check out his fellow agent for the injury he knew Kuryakin had suffered. The Captain could almost accept that the very neatly executed capture was a simple series of accidents but he was far too experienced to believe it. Yes, he thought, this man does surprise me.  


Up in his office, Kuryakin carefully pulled off his jacket. Emile quickly went into the adjoining bathroom and got water and towels. “You were supposed to duck, Illya.”  


A slight smile crossed Illya’s lips, “I must be slowing in my old age.” Illya had warned Emile of the planned arrest after meeting up with the good Captain. It added to the difficulty that they did not want to show the Captain that they had guns but Kuryakin thought it prudent to make points with the local police. It didn’t hurt that Ugarte was guilty, Kuryakin firmly believed. He hissed at the sharp pain as Emile pressed his side with towels where the bullet grazed.  


“It’s fine, I’ve got it,” Kuryakin said taking the towel. “Go back downstairs and make sure things are in hand.”  


Emile smiled at his touchy fellow agent.  


“Sure, just be sure to use that antiseptic or I will put the Professor onto you.” None of the agents for the Café were surprised to see Kuryakin downstairs within the hour, it was business as usual.


	2. Chapter 2

####  Part II - _“The hounds usually end up eating the fox.”_

Passing the bar later that night, the bartender, Sasha, caught Illya’s eye. “Monsieur Nick, two Italians gave me this check for their bill. Is all right?” Sasha was another member of the U.N.C.L.E. team on this assignment.  


Holding the paper up to the light, Kuryakin easily recognized it as fake and ripped up the check. “No.”  


“Nicky, please.” A young beauty at the bar caught Kuryakin’s arm. “Where were you last night?”  


“That is so long ago I do not remember.” Illya said as he pulled back.  


“Will I see you tonight?”  


He stopped his relentless survey of the other areas of the Café and sighed. This could become trouble. “I never make plans that far ahead,” he said hoping to forestall the woman.  


“Give me another,” feeling rejected the young women, Sonja, called to the bartender. She was frustrated in her attempts to attract the mysterious Café Manager, her latest target in a bored life.  


Kuryakin stopped the bartender with a look.  


The young women huffed, turning to the bartender, insisting recklessly, “Sasha, give me another drink.”  


“Sasha, she’s had enough.” Kuryakin said in no uncertain terms to the employee/agent.  


“No, now don’t listen to him.”  


Amused by the confrontation Sasha leaned over the bar and replied, “Sonja. I love you mademoiselle, but he pays me.”  
Putting this demonstration to an end, Kuryakin spoke softly to the bartender, “Sasha call a cab for Mademoiselle Sonja.”  


“Yes boss.”  


Illya gently maneuvered the quickly-fading young lady out of the Café. Handing over some money, he gave her over to his capable bartender. “Here, Sasha. Be sure she gets home.”  


“Yes boss.”  


Raising his voice, Illya caught the agent’s eye, “And come right back.”  


Sasha sighed at his boss’s demand that put an untimely end to his hope for the evening. “Yes, Monsieur Boss.”  


**********

Before Illya returned to the Café, he took the time to scan the outer street and storefronts. It was then that he caught sight of someone familiar.  


“Hello Nickoli.” Napoleon Solo grinned using the cover name for his fellow agent.  


“Napoleon.”  


Napoleon was sitting outside lounging in one of the café’s curb-side tables. “How extravagant you are throwing away women like that.” Illya strolled over to the table to join him. “Some day they may be scarce. Maybe I should make a call to your little Sonja. Maybe get her on the rebound, eh?”  


Illya sighed, “When it comes to women, Napoleon, you are a true entrepreneur.”  


Both men sat for a moment in silence. Both observing the other warily, cautiously renewing old impressions while forming new ones. Napoleon spoke first, “We’ve just received word that the German contact will be making his way here tonight.”  


“What is his name?”  


“Victor Laslow.”  


Illya hesitated, “Victor Laslow.”  


“Illya that is the first time I’ve ever seen you impressed.”  


Illya smiled slightly at the agent, “Well Laslow’s succeeded in impressing half the world.”  


“You know him?”  


Illya side-stepped Napoleon’s question, “He escaped from a Nazi concentration camp late in the war. He made quite a name for himself with underground activities.”  


“He will be here trying to obtain an exit visa. Or I should say two.”  


“Why two?”  


“He is traveling with a lady.”  


Illya’s ever scanning eye watched the street traffic but they were relatively left alone. “It is easier to get one visa.”  


“No. He’ll need two. I’ve heard the lady is quite beautiful.” Napoleon’s eyes glistened as the U.N.C.L.E. agent appreciated fine beauty. “If Laslow didn’t leave her in Berlin or Marseille, he certainly wouldn’t leave her in Casablanca.”  


“Maybe he is not quite as romantic as you are, Napoleon.”  


Napoleon turned to his mysterious fellow agent, changing the subject. “Illya, we haven’t talked since Berlin. I understand things got a little hot after I left.”  


Illya moved in his chair to alter his field of vision and to relieve the pain in his side from the recent wound, “It all worked out.”  


Solo leaned back in his chair. Rumor had it that there was a betrayal against the blacklisted Russian and he escaped barely, with injuries, and a dead betrayer. “I did some checking on you after I returned to New York. Not an easy task I might add. Your history is as light as my widowed Aunt.”  


“I happen to know your Aunt is not all that light, as you put it, nor is she widowed.”  


Solo smiled. It seems Kuryakin checked up on him also. “You’re on loan from GRU Military Intelligence. You were enfolded into that illustrious organization straight from middle school at the ripe age of 16. Much of your training and service are still a mystery to me but there were some rumors of assignation squads or underground freedom fighters. Which is true?” The hazel eyes locked onto the blue ones.  


“Maybe both.” Kuryakin watched Solo. He would have to be careful around this one. While it was true he was a fellow U.N.C.L.E. agent, Illya learned very early on to trust no one. Ever.  


Solo continued, “And then you became U.N.C.L.E.”  


Kuryakin merely looked at Solo, giving him nothing.  


“Tell me, coming from your sort of past, why does one turn to U.N.C.L.E.?”  


“Maybe I was looking for the water that would wash away my sins.”  


“This is a desert, my friend. There is no water.”  


“I guess I was misinformed.”  


Kuryakin’s look was grim and maybe a little sad, Solo thought.  


**********

Both U.N.C.L.E. agents re-entered the café; Kuryakin back up to his desk on the loft and Solo to scan the room taking inventory. Illya had given him background information on several of the Café’s customers. He quickly found the Thrush operatives that Kuryakin warned him of. Heilich Strauser, a Thrush high ranking operative from Germany and Emile Houstedler, a Thrush enforcer. Relishing the risk, Solo moved easily to their table.  


“Good evening, Gentlemen.”  


“Good evening Herr Solo.” They met like old friends. “Won’t you join us?”  


“Thank you.” Solo slid easily onto a third chair. “It’s a pleasure to see you both here,” Solo said in an obvious lie.  


A waiter came to the table. “Our best German lager and a tin of Caviar,” ordered Thrush. Strauser was always the expansive host and wished to show off.  


“May I recommend Champagne instead? With Caviar always Champagne.” supplied Solo, always one to take Strauser down a notch.  


“As you wish,” frowned Strauser, his eyes half closed at the insult.  


Catching the waiter’s eye, Solo added with a grin, “A good French one please.”  


“Very good sir.” The waiter left on his task.  


Thrush scanned the café patrons. “A very interesting club.”  


“Yes, I like it.”  


Kuryakin was moving through the room when Solo caught him. “Nick,” he called him over to the table. Solo knew Kuryakin would hate his open approach to Thrush and he relished bringing the reserved agent into the mix to watch the fun.  


Kuryakin sighed; Solo always the master manipulator. One day his risks would get them both killed, Kuryakin thought. Another chance at betrayal. “Nick, this is Heilich Strauser, in from Europe. Herr Strauser may I introduce Mr. Nick; manager extraordinaire of this fine establishment.” Deftly Solo pulled Kuryakin’s arm to join the group.  


“How do you do, Herr Nick.” Strauser stood up in greeting, taking a measure of this new man.  


“And this is Herr Houstedler, also from Germany.” Clearly Houstedler did not approve of this flagrant friendliness and stayed seated.  


“Please join us Herr Nick,” offered Strauser the gracious host. Kuryakin had said nothing during the exchange. Only Solo could see his partner was uneasy with the circumstances. Coolly Kuryakin took a seat at the table across from Solo. Waiters supplied the table with drinks and food.  


“We should be very honored, Nick. Herr Strauser is one of the reasons why a certain international organization enjoys the reputation that it has,” said Solo bringing up the veiled subject of Thrush.  


Strauser turned to Solo, “You speak of my accomplishments as if you expected it to mean something else. Disreputable motives perhaps?”  


“Just making polite conversation,” the ever-charming Solo replied.  


Turning back to the newcomer at the table Strauser asked, “Do you mind if I ask you some questions Herr Nick? Off the record of course.”  


Eyeing Solo first, Kuryakin returned Strauser’s gaze. “Make it on the record if you like.”  


“What is your nationality?”  


“Let’s just say I’m slumming.” Strauser laughed at this unexpected answer, intrigued.  


“And that makes Nick a citizen of the world,” Solo supplied smiling.  


“I was born in Russia if that will help you any.”  


The two men locked eyes, the Russian and the German. “I understand that you have been here many times from France.”  


“There seems to be no secret about that.”  


“Are you one of those people who are displaced from their beloved Russia since it has been open to new and improved influences?”  


“Some would try to make it no longer my beloved Russia.”  


“Can you imagine us in Russia?” Houstedler spoke for the first time hinting with thinly veiled menace.  


The table froze at the implied threat. Kuryakin’s blue gaze held him easily, “When you get there, ask me.”  


Again the men laughed, Strauser at the boldness of this unknown man, Solo at this young agent’s wit against Thrush. Once again, his assessment of Kuryakin needed reprising and he was uncommonly impressed with his skill not usually seen in agents so young. Odd, Solo thought, to look at Kuryakin’s eyes he did not seem so young. He seemed war-weary. Solo had seen this look many times in the Korean War – men that had been pushed too far or had seen too much of death. Solo was only beginning to understand what was inside Kuryakin to give him this look.  


“Who do you think will end up ruling the world?” Strauser asked flippantly yet again taking measure of the man before him.  


“I have not the slightest idea.”  


“Nick is completely neutral about everything. And that takes in the field of drinking and gambling too.” Pouring everyone more champagne, Solo teased expansively keeping to the cover of his fellow agent. He was also enjoying putting Kuryakin on the hot seat.  


“But you are not always so careful, so neutral. We have a complete dossier on you.” Strauser pulled out a small black book. Solo and Kuryakin exchanged looks. Had Solo’s teasing revealed that Kuryakin’s cover was blown? “Nickoli Banisk, Russian, age 26, can not return to his country.” Strauser paused to look up. “The reason is a little vague. We also know what you did in Paris, Herr Nick.”  


In a bold move, Illya took the black book from Strauser’s hands and quickly scanned the written information. His cover was not blown. All the data was what Illya himself supplied in setting up his cover. “Hmmm. Are my eyes really ice blue?” he asked, reading the black book.  


Strauser took back the book. He did not like being made a fool of or that he had lost control of the conversation. “Never mind. The point is we are here for a certain package and we are always interested in those that can help us achieve our goals.” Strauser had no reservation recruiting what he thought was non-U.N.C.L.E. help in front of Solo.  


“My interest in what happens to so-called packages is purely a sporting one,” replied Kuryakin/Nick.  


Strauser leaned forward, “In this case you have no sympathy for the fox, eh?” Solo watched the exchange with interest.  


“Not particularly. But I have never understood the point of view of the hound.” Strauser was clearly not happy with this implication.  


Time to help out his fellow agent. Solo joined in “Of course one must admit foxes have been known to be very clever.”  


Strauser reluctantly turned back to Solo. “I admit that. But many times the hounds have chased the fox. And the hounds usually end up eating the fox.”  


Abruptly Kuryakin rose. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen. While your business is sports mine is running this Café.”  


“Good evening Herr Nick.”  


Once they were alone, Solo turned back to Thrush, “You see, Herr Strauser? You have nothing to worry about with Nick.”  


“Perhaps.” Strauser watched the Café Manger as he walked away.  


Solo thought that maybe Kuryakin was right to not play with reckless risks.


	3. Chapter 3

#### PART III - _“In a concentration camp one is apt to lose a little weight.”_

The Café was full and music could be heard played softly in the background. A tall, cultured man and a lady that could only be described as a true beauty, walked into the Café. “Yes Monsieur?” asked the Professor acting as head waiter.  


“I reserved a table. Victor Laslow.”  


“Yes Mr. Laslow. Right this way.” The man and the woman followed the waiter through the myriad of tables each scanning the room as if their lives depended on it, as if watching was second nature.  


The man wore a white dinner jacket; out of place in this particular café, the woman was in a softly draping evening gown. They could have been a romantic couple slumming in the seedier parts of the city if they didn’t look so apprehensive.  


Sam, ever vigilant at his excellent vantage spot at the piano, saw the new customers being shown to a table. He noted that the man was the contact U.N.C.L.E. was expecting but his eyes widened at the sight of the woman. Now what is she doing here, thought Sam. He was sure the woman had noticed him also. Sam made a quick glance around the room – where was Illya?  


Napoleon sitting at a back table recognized the couple as they entered. So did Thrush.  


“Two martinis please,” Laslow ordered as they both were seated at a mid room table.  


“Oui Monsieur.” The Professor left quickly.  


“I do not see our contact,” pondered Laslow to the woman beside him as they continued to scan the room.  


“Victor, I feel somehow we shouldn’t stay here,” the woman spoke softly with a seductively accented voice as she leaned in to her companion.  


“If we walk out now it would only call attention to us. Perhaps Mr. Ugarte is in some other part of the café.”  


A tall, thin stranger walked up to the couple’s table. “Excuse me but you look like a couple on their way to America.”  


“Well….” Both man and woman visibly leaned back, apprehensive at this unexpected intruder.  


“You’ll find a market there for this ring. I’m forced to sell it at a great sacrifice.” The man reached out with his hand. On his finger was an unusual ring.  


“Thank you but I hardly think …”  


The standing man persisted nervously, “Then perhaps for the lady? The ring is quite unique.” Hidden from general view the man opened the top of the ring revealing to the seated couple a secret insignia known to them. The insignia proclaimed the owner to be of a covert underground organization Laslow had worked with in the past. The couple stiffened in recognition.  


“Oh yes. I’m very interested.” Victor studied anew the visitor. The nervous man took a chair and sat. “Good.”  


“What is your name?”  


“Berger. I’m Norwegian,” the nervous man whispered. “And at your service sir.”  


The beautiful eyes of the lady, ever vigilant, spoke softly in warning, “Victor….”  


**********

With practiced reliance on the woman’s instinct, Laslow turned to the ring salesman, “I’ll meet you in a few minutes at the bar.” Louder he said, “No I don’t think we want to buy the ring. But thank you for showing it to us.” Behind him, Agent Solo was approaching, not blind to the exchange going on at the table of his newly arrived foxes.  


“Such a bargain. But if that is your decision?” asked the man, playing the role.  


“I’m sorry but it is,” replied Laslow, returning the ring. The man left quickly.  


“Monsieur Laslow is it not?” asked Solo with his best suave smile.  


“Yes.”  


“I’m Napoleon Solo. From U.N.C.L.E.” The woman leaned back in her chair taking in the dashing young agent.  


“What is it you want?”  


“Merely to welcome you to Casablanca and to wish you a pleasant stay. It isn’t often U.N.C.L.E. has the opportunity to offer aid to such a distinguished visitor.”  


Laslow stood in greeting. “Thank you. I hope you’ll forgive me Monsieur Solo but U.N.C.L.E. hasn’t always been so cordial.” Both men locked eyes for a moment.  


“U.N.C.L.E. frowns upon getting into the mix of political controversy. It doesn’t mean that they are unsympathetic nor does it mean that they won’t support any action against Thrush.”  


Laslow tipped his head at that comment. “May I present Mademoiselle Salant.”  


The woman was indeed striking, thought Solo. “I was informed that you were the most beautiful woman ever to visit Casablanca. That was a gross understatement.” The woman smiled that Mona Lisa smile that drove men to lose their way and their sanity.  


“You are very kind,” she spoke. Solo once again wondered at the background of such a beautiful woman. Obviously intelligent, cultured, she held her composure while a centerpiece in this little drama and yet she invited protection.  


“Won’t you join us?” Laslow was pleased with his companion. She could always affect the men.  


“If you will permit me.” Solo took a seat at the table. Not for the first time he saw this assignment with many complications. The man was clearly not sold on U.N.C.L.E.’s help and the woman was an interesting surprise.  


As the waiter approached with the couple’s drinks, “Oh no Emile, please. A bottle of your best Champagne. And put it on my bill.”  


“Tres bien monsieur” the waiter responded.  


“Monsieur Solo please,” protested Laslow.  


“It is nothing. A welcoming gift from our U.N.C.L.E.”  


“Monsieur Solo,” Ilsa Salant spoke hesitantly, “the man at the piano… Do you know him?”  


“That is Sam. He came over from Paris with Nick.”  


“Nick? And who is he?”  


Solo was surprised at the interest in his two fellow agents. “Nick manages this café. And Nick is … “  


“Is what?” the Mademoiselle leaned forward in her seat. Solo instinctively felt something was up. Did she know the very private agent?  


“Well mademoiselle, Nick is the kind of man that if I were a woman, I would be drawn in by his looks but turned away by his distance.” Solo observed, ‘there was that Mona Lisa smile again’. Something was definitely up. Laslow seemed indifferent to it though.  


“But what a fool I am. Here I am talking to a beautiful woman about another man.” Salant lost her distant look and beamed a smile at Solo’s charm.  


“Monsieur Laslow, the man that was just at your table.”  


“Yes?”  


“I must tell you that you may want to re-think any association with him.”  


“And why is that Monsieur Solo?”  


“He is currently under suspicion. His background isn’t checking out.” It seemed Kuryakin’s information on several of the café’s customers was proving very helpful, Solo thought.  


“I wonder if that isn’t often the case with many in Casablanca,” Laslow said accepting the information but skeptical as to its value.  


Suddenly the three at the table were invaded by Strauser. Solo stood, “Monsieur Laslow, Mademoiselle Salant, may I present Herr Heilich Strauser.”  


“How do you do. This is a pleasure I have long looked forward to,” Strauser said expansively.  


Neither of the couple rose to greet the Thrush officer. Both looked terribly uncomfortable. They both knew who he was, Solo realized. “Excuse me if I am not gracious.” Laslow spoke coldly. “You see, Herr Strauser, I am not pleased with Thrush.”  


“You may not have been pleased but you have taken something that belongs to us.”  


Laslow rose, “I’ve never accepted that distinction. And now that I’m in Morocco, I’m a free man.”  


“I should like to discuss some matters arising from your presence in Morocco … and your freedom.”  


Solo stepped in, “This is hardly the time or the place, Herr Strauser.”  


“Then we shall state another time. Perhaps here, tomorrow at 10:00 a.m. With Mademoiselle.” Strauser tipped his head to the lady. It was clear the lady fully understood the threat.  


“Monsieur Solo is it within your power to join us in our discussion?” asked Laslow.  


“Of course. I would be delighted.” Solo smiled at Strauser, winning a frown but keeping U.N.C.L.E. close to the couple. Both men left the couple to enjoy their meal.  


When they left, Laslow leaned closer to Salant and whispered, “I must find out what that Berger fellow knows.”  


“Be careful.”  


Laslow smiled at her, “I will. Don’t worry.”  


As the man left, the woman’s eyes unwillingly searched the reaches of the café. Sam, on his break, sat in a far corner and caught her eye. Salant smiled the warm look of recognition of an old friend. Sam hesitated.  


**********

“Monsieur Berger. The ring, could I see it again.” Laslow moved to the bar where the nervous Berger sat waiting.  


“Of course.”  


“Monsieur?” asked a bartender. Laslow gave an off-handed order. “Champaign cocktail, s’il vous plait.”  


Handing over the ring, Berger remarked, “I hardly recognized you from the news photographs, Monsieur Laslow.”  


“In a concentration camp one is apt to lose a little weight.”  


Berger harrumphed. “We heard that you were killed 5 times in 5 different camps.”  


“And the receipt was true every single time. Thank heaven I’ve found you Berger. I’m looking for a man by the name of Ugarte. He’s supposed to help me.”  


“Ugarte cannot even help himself, Monsieur. He is under arrest for murder.” Laslow looked at Berger, stunned. “He was arrested in this very cafe, earlier tonight.”  


“I see.” Laslow whispered feeling defeat.  


“But we who are still free will do all that we can to help. We are organized, Monsieur, just like everyone else.” Laslow stared down at his hands, trying to think. Berger continued, “Tomorrow night there is a meeting at the Café Duboue’. If you will come ….” Berger covered himself with a cough as, just then, the bartender delivered Laslow’s drink.  


**********

Ilsa Salant stopped the waiter clearing away glasses on the table, “Would you ask the piano player to come over here please?”  


“Very well, mademoiselle.”  


**********

“How is the jewelry business, Berger.” Solo slipped up onto the bar seat beside Laslow.  


“Eh, not so good,” replied Berger getting very nervous. Hurriedly he asked the bartender, “Could I have my check please.”  


“Too bad you weren’t here earlier, Monsieur Laslow. We had quite a bit of excitement here this evening, didn’t we Berger? It seems we had a murderer amongst us.” Solo referred to the police arrest at the café earlier. It was a calculated threat aimed at Berger.  


“Yes, excuse me gentlemen.” Quickly Berger was up and away.  


“My bill,” Laslow asked the bartender.  


“No, two more of the same please.” Solo spoke to the bartender but his eyes held Laslow. Laslow glanced with apprehension at the retreating back of Berger and then reluctantly turned back to the U.N.C.L.E. agent.


	4. Chapter 4

#### PART IV - _“Play it once, Sam. For old time’s sake.”_

“Hello Sam.”

“Hello, Miss Salant.” Sam moved back to set up the piano for his next set. “I never expected to see you again.”

She looked up at him fondly, “It’s been a long time.”

“Yes ma’am. A lot of water under the bridge.”

Salant smiled genuinely, in remembrance, “Play some of the old songs, Sam.”

“Yes ma’am.” Sam began to play a soft, gentle ballad.

Salant leaned close to Sam, her eyes and face intent on his face, “Where is he. Where is Nickoli?”

“I don’t know. I ain’t seen him all night.”

But Salant would not be put off. “Do you know when will he be back?” Salant watched Sam closely.

“Not tonight. He ain’t coming eh…. He went home.” Trying gamely to answer, Sam still did not miss a note of the soft song. A much better musician than a liar. He should stick to the music.

Salant smiled at Sam’s obvious ploy. “Does he always leave so early?”

“Oh, he never… Well … He’s got a girl up at the Blue Parrot. He goes up there all the time.”

Salant turned away. “You used to be a much better liar Sam.”

With that Sam stopped playing and turned earnestly to the woman. “Leave him alone, Miss Ilsa. You’re bad luck to him.”

Salant lost her smile, but only for a second. “Play it once, Sam. For old time’s sake.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Miss Ilsa.”

The woman believed none of it. Her smile did not fade, just turned sad for her remembered friend. Her eyes saddest of all. “Play it, Sam. Play ‘As Time Goes By’.”

“Oh, I can’t remember it, Miss Ilsa. I’m a little rusty on it.”

“I’ll hum it for you.” The soft melody left her lips in a beautiful sad whisper. Sam knew the melody, of course, and began to play along with her.

“Sing it Sam.” Sam stopped playing in surprise. Her intense eyes held him as she insisted. And so, he sang as he played.

_“You must remember this_

_A kiss is just a kiss_

_A sigh is just a sigh_

_The fundamental things apply_

_As time goes by.”_

Kuryakin heard the song from the other room and froze.

_“And when two lovers woo_

_They still say “I love you”_

_On that you can rely_

_No matter what the future brings_

_As time goes by.”_

Forcibly he made his way through the crowded tables and went up to Sam, his voice hard, his blue eyes blazing. “Sam, I thought I told you never to play …” Illya noticed Sam’s look, glancing over to a table. And there she was. The world stopped for both of them.

**********

Sam had stopped playing and moved away but both people hardly noticed. As luck would have it Solo came up behind Kuryakin with Laslow in tow. “Well you were asking about Nick and here he is. Mademoiselle, may I present …”

“Hello Ilsa.”

“Hello Nickoli.”

“Oh, you’ve already met Nick, Mademoiselle? Well then perhaps you also know …” Solo turned to the now watchful Laslow.

“Nickoli, this is Victor Laslow,” cut in Salant.

Laslow tipped his head, tentatively. “How do you do.”

“How do you do.” Kuryakin pulled his attention and his racing heart back to the man beside him.

“One hears a great deal about Nick around Casablanca.”

“And about Victor Laslow, one hears everywhere.”

Laslow bowed at the compliment. “Won’t you join us for a drink?”

Surprised, Napoleon heard his stand-offish partner agree. The three men joined the lady’s table.

“This is a very interesting Café. I congratulate you.” Laslow addressed Kuryakin.

“It is I that would congratulate you.”

“What for?”

“For your work.”

Laslow nodded. “Thank you. I try.”

Illya/Nick winced. “Many of us try. You succeed.”

“I can’t get over you two.” Napoleon was watching the young agent and the woman closely. He saw at once Illya’s expression of warning but it went against the high heat radiating in the blue eyes. He continued undaunted, “Mademoiselle was asking about you earlier Nick in a way that has made me extremely jealous.” He and Laslow picked up their drinks. Noticeably, Napoleon thought, the other two were oblivious to the glasses in front of them.

Ilsa turned to Illya/Nickoli teasingly, “I wasn’t sure you were the same. Let’s see … the last time we met was the …”

“…was the La Bella Royal in Paris,” Nick finished.

Ilsa broke out in a beautiful smile. “How nice. You remembered.” Her face became hesitant and suddenly sad as she turned to the other two men. She explained, “But of course that was the day that Thrush destroyed the U.N.C.L.E. base in Paris.”

Solo took note that Ilsa knew of the U.N.C.L.E. tragedy. Another surprise in this developing mystery.

“Not an easy day to forget,” spoke Illya/Nickoli still looking only at Ilsa.

“No,” she said softly.

“Nick, you may be on your way to being human. I suppose we may have you to thank for that, Mademoiselle.” Napoleon ventured. She had a very beautiful smile, he thought.

“Ilsa, I don’t wish to be the one to say it but it’s late.” Laslow cut in.

“So it is,” replied Solo. Both Ilsa and Illya were still held in time. The bill came but Nick took it before others could. “Another surprise for the night,” said Napoleon. Illya gave him a glare of warning.

“We’ll come again,” said Laslow rising.

“Any time,” Kuryakin said to the man now moving behind Ilsa.

“Say good night to Sam for me.” Ilsa rose with a smile for Nick, Laslow at her back.

“I will.”

“There is still nobody in the world that can play ‘As Time Goes By’ like Sam.”

“He has not played it in a long time,” Illya/Nickoli replied. That made Ilsa hesitate and lower her eyes. He could still hurt.

**********

They all said their “Good nights.” Solo had watched the exchange with foreboding. He would have to question the tight-lipped Russian later, he thought, as he moved outside ahead of the couple. Or maybe he would have a little talk with the piano playing Sam.

As Laslow and Salant walked out into the night, he commented “A very puzzling fellow, this Nick. What sort is he?”

“Oh, I really can’t say, though I saw him quite often in Paris.”

Solo was holding a cab for them, “Tomorrow morning at 10:00.”  


“We’ll be here. Good night.” Laslow assured U.N.C.L.E.  


Solo had heard about the U.N.C.L.E. base being destroyed in Paris a few years ago. Over twenty personnel were killed in a Thrush ambush. There had been rumors about the Russian agent being involved; nothing very substantial but never the less a shadow hanging over the young agent. It was one more reason Napoleon was reluctant to trust this man, here in Morocco where trust was a very rare commodity anyway. Adding the trouble in Berlin, at the very least the Russian was not having an easy time. Maybe that was why his fellow agent looked so battle-scared.  


Kuryakin handled himself well with the element in Casablanca, this was obvious. The other U.N.C.L.E. agents on this assignment seemed to have a high regard for him and he did extremely well with the Thrush operatives as well. The incident that evening with the local police did not escape Solo’s attention either. Helping out Captain Renault was an excellent strategy on the part of Kuryakin. Getting himself shot was not. Solo wondered when Kuryakin would admit to being injured or if he ever would. Damn his independence, Solo cursed. Although he had to admit that the wound did not seem to be affecting Illya’s performance as yet.  


The Agent’s reluctance to trust, to explain inconsistencies or lapses in his history was a constant irritant to Solo who always needed to be in control. Maybe that is what was bothering Solo after all. He could admit to himself that maybe he had met a man he couldn’t control but could be worthy of trust in spite of that. Solo being Solo, he needed to find out the truth for himself.


	5. Chapter 5

#### PART V - _“Of all the places she walks into, she walks into here.”_

After closing, with the Café in darkness, Illya allowed himself a large glass of Vodka with the bottle close by. Sam watched over him as he locked up the building. Napoleon noticed Sam’s look. “What’s up?”

“Bad news.”

At the questioning look, Sam continued. “The woman, Ilsa Salant. She was in France with us a few years ago on assignment.”

Napoleon’s eyebrows rose, as Sam confirmed “Yes, she was with U.N.C.L.E. then.”

Napoleon was surprised, but remembering the way the woman handled herself, he guessed he should have recognized the skills.

“They were …..close. Very close.” Sam hesitated, wanting to protect Illya’s privacy. But as all U.N.C.L.E. agents knew, nothing in their lives was private.

“And then?”

“And then she disappeared before the assignment ended. An agent was wounded, Illya as a matter of fact. Not her fault exactly but we could have used her backup. And then headquarters was attacked about the same time.” Sam paused in thought, “That was a bad time, Napoleon. I lost a lot of good friends, a lot of good agents.”

“Ilsa’s disappearance – any tie to the attack or just coincidence?”

“Nothing was ever discovered.” Innuendo, Solo thought. It always led to the wrong people being hurt.

Napoleon left Sam to finish closing up and turned to the back, the part of the café in shadow. “Illya.” No response. “Illya?” Napoleon called again.

“Yes,” came a mumbled reply. He sat slumped at a table, his glass empty.

“Illya, you should turn in.”

“Not right now,” Illya replied with ice in his tone.

“Aren’t you ever going to turn in?”

“No” Illya forced out in misery.

“I see. Well I’m not going to turn in either.”

“Of all the places she walks into, she walks into here.” Illya’s hands rubbed his face; he had a nightmare of a headache and his side hurt.

Solo walked up beside the man and Illya looked over and saw a wash bowl and towels. “Come on let’s have a look.”

This man, Illya winced, always seemed to know everything. It took a minute for Illya to decide if he would fight this or just surrender but he found he was really too tired to fight. He took off his jacket and shirt, which was already showing blood seeping through the bandage over the wound. Illya breathed deep to control the pain caused by Napoleon’s handy-work with the towels as he cleaned the wound.

“Want to talk about it?”

“No” he hissed as Napoleon worked.

“It might help.”

Illya looked over and glared at the American. “I have often found that that is not true.”

Napoleon smiled, “Maybe you’re right. But there is an old American saying that ‘sharing the truth can set you free’.” He applied antiseptic and a fresh bandage as he finished.

Illya leaned back taking in the hazel eyes. “In Russia we also have a saying. “всегда перемещение самостоятельно. Больше чем т будет большим риском.”

“Which means.”

“Always travel alone. More than that is great risk.” Illya closed his eyes, the headache was worse.

“But Illya, risk is what it’s all about. The chance, the unknown.”

The Russian sighed as he slipped his shirt back on, “Nyet. I have seen you take reckless risk. That is not chance, that is a foregone conclusion. Even you should see that. Especially in Casablanca, risk other than in small doses is not healthy.”

Napoleon sighed as he had to admit Casablanca was indeed testing the risk factor.

**********

Sam played soft music while he waited for his fellow agents but suddenly the front door of the Café opened.

Both Illya and Napoleon turned at the sound, suddenly alert. It was Ilsa, her eyes locked immediately onto Illya.

“Nickoli, I have to talk to you.”

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Napoleon said softly to Illya and left out the back door with Sam.

“I saved you a drink” Illya pointed to a glass on the table. Calling him Nickoli was Paris. That was his cover name at the time. The name now twisted in his stomach.

Shaking her head, Ilsa whispered, “No. No, Nickoli, not tonight.” She sat down at the seat across from him. Not trusting herself to be any closer, not sure if he would accept her any closer.

“Why? Why did you have to come to Casablanca? There are other places…” Illya knew he had already drunk too much.

“I wouldn’t have come if I’d known that you were here. Believe me Nickoli, it’s true. I didn’t know,” she pleaded.

His tone cut through her words, “It is funny about your voice. How it has not changed. I can still hear it.” Illya leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, so bone weary. “Nickoli, I will go with you. Any place you say ….” He opened his eyes and stared at her. “Those were your words.”

“Please don’t.”

“We will get on a train and never stop… you said.”

“Don’t Nickoli!” Her cry cut him off. They looked at each other in silence.

Ilsa looked away from those penetrating blue eyes. “I can understand how you feel.”

Illya chuckled without feeling. “You…” he whispered to his glass. “You understand how I feel.” He looked up at her. “How many days did we have together?”

“I didn’t count them.”

“But I did. Mostly I remember the last day. The day you didn’t show up.”

“Can I tell you a story, Nickoli?”

Illya paused to look down at his empty glass. “Does it have a good finish?”

“I don’t know the finish yet.”

He sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Then go on and tell it. Maybe one will come to you as you go along.”

“It is about a young girl who had just come to Paris from her home in Oslo. New to U.N.C.L.E. She met a man whom she had heard about. A very courageous young man. He opened up for her a whole beautiful world full of knowledge and thoughts and ideals. Everything she knew or ever became was because of him. She looked up to him. Worshiped him with one of the feelings she supposed was love….”

“I have heard a lot of stories in my life….,” Illya cut in coldly. Ilsa closed her eyes, there were tears in them. Seeing them, he stopped. There was too much pain; in her eyes, in his. He shook his head, “I guess none of our stories are very good.”

He looked at her; maybe it was the pounding headache or the throbbing ache in his side or maybe just the long-felt pain in his heart re-awakened. Whatever, he had to make the pain stop. “Tell me. Who was it you left me for? Was it Laslow or were there others in between?!”

Ilsa rose in shock at the words as if he had hit her. She then left the café without another word.

Illya slowly lowered his head to his arms on the table.

The night passed over Casablanca.


	6. Chapter 6

#### PART VI – _“Even Thrush can’t kill that fast.”_

At the office of Captaine L. Renault, Pre’fet de Police de Morocco, Herr Strauser was pressing his influence upon the good Captain.

“I strongly suspect that Ugarte left the Letters of Transit with Herr Rick. I would suggest that you search his Café immediately and thoroughly.” Thrush had heard about the stolen documents and was worried that U.N.C.L.E. would gain the visas and help Laslow and the lady leave Morocco before Thrush was done with them.

“If Nick has the Letters, he’s much too smart to let you find them there.”

“You give him credit for much too cleverness. My impression was that he was another blundering patriot.”

“You mustn’t underestimate the man or the patriot.”

Strauser ignored the Captain’s opinion as another blundering patriot. “As to Victor Laslow, we want him watched 24 hours a day.”

“It may interest you to know, that at this very moment he is on his way to Nick’s Café. An appointment with you I believe.” The Captain tried very hard not to let his smile show. Strauser left very annoyed.

The Captain was used to walking a fine line between his country’s politics, the strong criminal element of his city, and his own values. This new wrinkle, forced upon him from the Moroccan administration, to cooperate with Thrush, was making his tight-rope walking far too dangerous. He did not know how Nick played into the picture but Renault knew he would be hard pressed to help someone who had recently saved his life.

**********

Victor Laslow and Ilsa Salant were led into a back room of the Café Morocco. Solo rose to greet them, “I’m delighted to see you both. Did you have a good night’s rest?”

“Yes, very well,” replied Laslow.

“That’s strange. Nobody’s supposed to sleep well in Casablanca.” Solo noticed the lady’s discomfort with the topic. As well she might, after what he had overheard of the conversation last night. Of course, he had listened in.

“May we proceed with business?” Undaunted, Laslow stepped forward into the room.

“A pleasure,” Solo said gallantly as he showed them to a seat.

Herr Strauser entered with Capitaine Renault just as they were sitting and began without introduction. “See here Laslow, we can keep you a prisoner here in Morocco. So far you have been fortunate enough in eluding us and you have reached Casablanca. It is my mission to see that you stay in Casablanca.”

“Whether or not you succeed is of course problematic,” Laslow responded.

“Not at all,” Strauser said turning to the police Captain. “This is Captaine Renault of the Moroccan Police. His signature is necessary on every exit visa. Captaine would you think it is possible that Herr Laslow would receive a visa?”

Captain Renault sat down at the table, “I’m afraid not. My regrets, Monsieur.”

“Well perhaps I shall like it in Casablanca.”

“And Mademoiselle?” pressed Strauser.

Salant raised her chin, hiding well her fear as she followed the conversation. “You needn’t be concerned about me.”

“Is that all you wish to tell us?” demanded Laslow, taking Salant’s arm.

“Don’t be in such a hurry,” Strauser continued smoothly. “You have all the time in the world. You may be in Casablanca indefinitely. Or you may leave for America tomorrow – on one condition.”

“And that is?”

“You know information, the names we want. Your resistance organization. In Paris, Prague, Brussels, in Amsterdam, in Oslo, in Athens….”

“In Berlin?” Laslow cut in. Both Laslow and Salant were fully aware of the direction of this conversation. Solo watched, leaning against a near table. Now that he knew what really was at stake, he would watch and measure the players in this room.

“Yes, especially Berlin. If you were to furnish me with the names of your underground and their exact location, you would have your visa in the morning. These men have been most irritating to us. I also want the Thrush information you stole.”

“All for the honor of serving Thrush,” Solo interrupted, speaking for the first time as a caution to Laslow but he soon found that he didn’t need to.

“I was in a concentration camp for a year, Mr. Solo. That is honor enough for a life time.” Solo nodded, impressed with the man.

“You will give us the names.” Strauser pressed.

“If I didn’t give them to you in the concentration camp, where you have more persuasive methods at your disposal, I certainly won’t give them to you now.” Laslow hesitated. “What if you tracked down these men and killed them. What if you murdered all of us? From every corner of the world hundreds, thousands would rise up and take our places. Even Thrush can’t kill that fast.”

The room held the silence of the weight of the words.

**********

Strauser broke the stillness, “Herr Laslow, you have a reputation for eloquence which I can now quite understand but in one respect you are mistaken. You said the enemies of Thrush could all be replaced, but there is one exception. No one can take your place in the event that anything, shall we say unfortunate, should occur to you while you are trying to escape.”

“You won’t dare to interfere with me here,” Laslow said confidently. Maybe a confidence he didn’t really feel as he wondered who to turn to for help. “This is still free Morocco and U.N.C.L.E. is here.”

“And U.N.C.L.E. is very interested,” added Solo. He didn’t worry that the U.N.C.L.E. presence seemed small. That Thrush, or even Laslow, didn’t realize as to how many U.N.C.L.E. agents were really in Casablanca, was to their advantage.

“Thank you.” Laslow and Salant began to rise. They were stopped by the police Captain.

“By the way Monsieur,” spoke up Capitaine Renault, “last night you advanced an interest in Senor Ugarte.”

Laslow glanced to Solo and then to Strauser, suddenly wary. “Yes.”

“I believe you have a message for him?”

“Nothing important. May I speak to him now?”

Strauser leaned back in his chair watching Laslow and the woman closely. “You would find the conversation a trifle one sided. Senor Ugarte is dead.”

Solo didn’t like the way Thrush was so well informed about Police matters. Perhaps Mr. Waverly was right warning Solo to keep to his own council where the Police were concerned. It was also clear to Solo that Laslow had been depending strongly on Ugarte.

“I’m making out the report now,” Renault said matter-of-factly. “I haven’t quite decided whether he committed suicide or died trying to escape.”

Both Laslow and Salant were clearly shocked at the Police Captain’s calmly spoken words. Solo couldn’t blame them.

A pale Laslow rose to leave, “Are you quite finished with us?”

“For the time being,” responded Strauser, clearly answering for the Police along with Thrush.

After the couple left with Solo, Renault turned to Strauser and advised, “Undoubtedly their next step will be to the Black Market”.


	7. Chapter 7

#### PART VII - _“He is a difficult customer, that Nick.”_

Elsewhere in Casablanca, Kuryakin entered the Blue Parrot Café seeking out Farrari. It was a different sort of café; darker, shabbier, not as frequented by the suit and gown set. He could see business was booming as he witnessed several illicit transactions being completed within the dark corners of the café.  
Farrari approached companionably and spoke in Farsi to his visitor, “Ah sabah alkhyr (good morning), Nick.”

“I see the truck is in. I’ll take my shipment with me.”

“No hurry. I’ll have it sent over.” Even in the morning heat, Farrari was wearing his customary white linen suit, his wide girth barely covered by the waist coat and jacket. He moved over to a side table. “Have a drink with me.”

“I never drink in the morning and every time you send my shipment over it is always just a little bit short.” Kuryakin had a throbbing headache from drinking too much the night before.

Farrari chuckled. “Carrying charges, my friend. Carrying charges.” He nevertheless gestured to a chair. “Here, sit down. There’s something I want to talk over with you anyhow.” Farrari caught his waiter’s eye for a drink as Illya/Nick sat.

“Ah, the news about Ugarte’s death upsets me very much.”

“You’re a hypocrite, Farrari.” Illya said coolly, his eyes scanning the room. “You don’t feel any sorrier for Ugarte than I do.”

“Of course not.” It was not surprising that both men were already well informed about the latest Casablanca news. “What upsets me is the fact that Ugarte is dead and no one knows where those Letters of Transit are."

“No one? Hmmm.”

“If I could lay my hands on those Letters, I could make a fortune.”

Kuryakin leaned back in the chair, watching one of Farrari’s waiters steal a wallet from an unsuspecting customer. “So, could I and I’m a poor business man.”

Both men silently watched each other while a waiter placed Farrari’s drink on the table.

“I have a proposition for whoever has those Letters. I’ll handle the entire transaction. Get rid of the Letters, take all the risks.”

“And the carrying charges?”

Now it was Farrari who leaned back in his chair, “Naturally there will be a few incidental expenses. That’s the proposition I have for whoever has those Letters.” Farrari’s eyes tried to bore a hole in Kuryakin but as he had already realized, the man before him would be unreadable. A most extraordinary man, he thought.

Nick shrugged, “I’ll tell whoever has them if I ever meet them.”

“Nick, I’ll put my cards on the table. I think you know where those Letters are.”

“You are in good company then. Renault and Strauser probably think so too.” Kuryakin’s watchful eyes caught an interesting incident in the market outside. Ilsa and Laslow were just parting company at one of the market booths. Ilsa was staying there while Laslow was approaching the Blue Parrot. Distracted Kuryakin said, “That’s why I came over here, to give them a chance to search my place.”

“Nick don’t be a fool. Take me into your confidence. You need a partner.” That caught Kuryakin’s attention. A partner! That was the last thing he needed. What good would a partner do him. Just another person to be betrayed by. No, never again. Illya saw no reason for a partner and vowed long ago to trust no one.

Kuryakin abruptly rose and moved to the door, “Forget it, Farrari. I’ll be taking my supplies and getting back.”

**********

At the doorway, Laslow was surprised to pass Illya/Nick coming out of the Blue Parrot. “Bonjour.”

“Monsieur Farrari is the fat gentleman at the back table,” Kuryakin called as he passed through the door leaving an astounded Laslow wondering how Nick knew who he was there to meet.

“You will not find a treasure like this in all Morocco,” a market vendor was saying to Ilsa as Illya/Nickoli came up behind the lady. Ilsa was admiring some beautiful lace. “Only 700 francs.”

“You are being cheated,” Illya spoke softly in French, staying behind her. Ilsa gasped in surprise but quickly turned back to the lace and the vendor.

“It doesn’t matter, thank you.” She could hardly find her voice.

The vendor still sure he had an opportunity, pushed the sell, “Ah, the lady is a friend of Nick’s. For a friend of Nick’s, we have a small discount. Did I say 700 francs? You can have it for 200.”

“I am sorry.” Illya spoke to her back and would wait for her to turn around to him. Clearly she was upset. “I was in no condition to receive you when you called on me last night.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

The vendor, not to lose a sell, said, “For special friend of Nick’s, we have a special discount – 100 francs.”

He pressed her more, “Your story had me a little confused. Or maybe it was the Vodka.”

The vendor tried his last option, “I have some cloth… “

“Thank you but I’m really, I’m not …” Ilsa was at a loss. She couldn’t think with Nickoli so close, after so many terrible words last night. The vendor saw the hesitation and thought there was still a chance. He entreated the woman to stay while he searched for more lace. “Please, please…”

Illya spoke again to her back, “Why did you come to me last night? To tell me why you ran out on me at Paris?”

“Yes.” Ilsa’s voice turned cold, distant.

“Then tell me now. I am reasonably sober.”

“I don’t think I will Nickoli.”

“Why not? After all I got stuck with the bill. I think I’m entitled to know.”

“Last night I saw what has happened to you. The Nickoli I knew in Paris - I could tell him. He’d understand. But the one that looked at me with such anger, well… I’ll be leaving Casablanca soon and we’ll never see each other again.”

Only now did she turn to look at him. “We knew very little about each other when we were in love in Paris. If we leave it that way maybe we’ll remember those days and not Casablanca. Not last night,” she said with sadness.

“Did you run out on me because you couldn’t take it? Because you knew what it would be like; the missions, the secrecy, the danger all the time?” Illya needed to understand, more than he could admit.

“You can believe that if you want to.”

Illya hardened with frustration, “So, will you one day lie to Laslow? Will you run away from him?”

“No, Nickoli. You see Victor Laslow is my husband.” She paused, “And was, even when I knew you in Paris.”

Stunned to his core, Illya watched as Ilsa walked away into the Blue Parrot Cafe.

**********

Ilsa sat down next to her husband. Monsieur Farrari was just serving some fragrant coffee. She was glad to sit down as she was shaking. Farrari spoke as she sat, “I was just telling Monsieur Laslow that unfortunately I am not able to help him.”

“You see, my dear, the word has gone around.”

“As the leader of all illegal activities in Casablanca, I’m an influential and respected man.” Farrari shrugged. “But it would not be worth my life for me to do anything for Monsieur Laslow. You, however, are a different matter.”

“Monsieur Farrari thinks it might just be possible to get an exit visa for you.”

“You mean for me to go on alone?”

“And only alone,” Farrari confirmed.

“I’ll stay here and keep on trying. I’m sure in a little while …” Victor was insistent with her.

Farrari interrupted, “Might as well be frank, Monsieur. It would take a miracle to get you out of Casablanca. And it seems Thrush has outlawed miracles.”

“We are only interested in two visas, Monsieur,” Ilsa said defiantly.

“Ilsa don’t be hasty.”

“No, Victor. No.”

Farrari chuckled, “You two will want to discuss this. Excuse me. I’ll be at the bar.”

Once they were alone, the couple talked on, “No, Ilsa. I won’t let you stay here. You must get to America. Believe me, I’ll get out somehow and join you.”

“But Victor, if the situation were reverse. If I had to stay and there was only a visa for one. Would you take it?” Her beautiful eyes shined on him with the knowledge already known.

He insisted. “Yes. I would.”

She smiled at the obvious lie. “Yes, I see. When I had trouble getting out of Geneva, why didn’t you leave me there? And when I was sick in Marseille, and held you up for 2 weeks and you were in danger every minute of the time. Why didn’t you leave me then?”

“I meant to but something always held me up,” he said trying to be earnest. She had to go, to be safe.

Ilsa smiled and nodded her head, knowingly. Victor saw it was hopeless to win with this woman. He had never loved her more than this moment.  
“I love you very much, Ilsa.”

She chuckled, “Your secret will be safe with me.” Ilsa rose. “Monsieur Farrari will be waiting for our answer.”

At the bar with Ilsa, Victor said, “We’ve decided Monsieur Farrari. For the present we’ll go on looking for two exit visas. Thank you very much.”

“Well, good luck. But be careful.” Farrari had been looking out the window. “Do you know that you are being shadowed?”

“Of course. It becomes a habit.”

Looking back at the couple, Farrari thought the man was foolish not to insist with the woman, “I observe that in one respect you are a very fortunate man, Monsieur.”

Still Farrari hesitated, “I move to make one more suggestion. Why, I do not know because it cannot possibly profit me. But have you heard about Senor Ugarte and the Letters of Transit?”

The man and woman were intent again, “Yes, we heard something.”

“Those Letters were not found on Ugarte when they arrested him.”

“Do you know where they are?”

“Not for sure, Monsieur, but I would venture to guess that Ugarte left those Letters with Monsieur Nick.” Farrari said this directly to the woman.

“Nick?” Laslow also turned to Ilsa as she gasped.

“He is a difficult customer, that Nick. One never knows what he will do or why. But it is worth a chance.”

“Thank you very much. Bonjour,” said Victor.

Ilsa called over her shoulder, “Au revoir. Thank you for your wonderful coffee, Monsieur. I shall miss that when we leave Casablanca.”

“It was gracious of you to share it with me. Good day Mademoiselle, Monsieur.”


	8. Chapter 8

#### PART VIII – _“In Casablanca, human life is cheap.”_

Napoleon passed the Professor as he went up to the loft, “Is he in?”

“Since this morning and very cranky.”

Napoleon walked on up wondering what more twists could have happened with this mission. “Well there you are.”

Illya was at the desk, going through papers. “The Police and Thrush gave the Café some going over this morning. We just barely got cleaned up to open.”

“Yes, I heard they were looking for the Exit Visas and that Thrush would be especially through. Illya, have you got those Letters of Transit?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. Ugarte had them and slipped them to me before he was arrested.”

“And the Police didn’t find them?”

“Don’t worry, they are safely hidden.” Illya had the shadow of a smile on his face.

“Well that is one piece of good news.” Napoleon sat on the edge of the desk.

“What else is going on?” Illya asked. He didn’t want to admit it but he found it was good to talk over things with the American agent. He seemed to listen and his strategies were in keeping with Illya’s own way of thinking. He was surprised that Napoleon left him alone after last night. Others might have questioned him or been less discrete.

“Unfortunately, Laslow has latched onto Berger. As you thought, it looks like Berger is attached to an organization that could have ties to Thrush. Although Laslow seems to think he is part of some group interested only in helping him.”

“The Professor is going to one of their meetings tonight. He can keep a look out for Laslow.”

Napoleon nodded in agreement at Illya’s foresight. “I’ll go with him. As Laslow gets more desperate, no telling what he might do.”

“I saw him go into Farrari’s café this morning.” Illya rose and paced over to the rail to check on the cleanup progress downstairs.

Napoleon watched Illya for any clue as to what else had happened that morning. “Well the Police sure aren’t going to make it easy on Laslow and it was clear at the meeting this morning that Captain Renault was working with Strauser.” The two agents talked more about what happened at the meeting.

“In Casablanca everyone changes sides constantly, Napoleon. Renault will not put his neck out to help anyone but himself and Farrari changes sides to suit the most profitable position.”

“Illya, if Laslow comes to you for the Letters, you will need to stall him until we can be assured he will not turn them over to Berger,” Napoleon cautioned unnecessarily. They both knew that the precious Letters were the only way out for the couple. Regrettably, the plane for America would not be leaving for another 2 nights. They must keep the Letters hidden and safe until then. Even taking the couple into their confidence would be risky if Laslow continued to trust Berger.

Illya turned to look directly at the American. His face remained unreadable but Napoleon saw reluctance in his manner. “Yes, I know,” sighed the Russian rubbing the back of his neck in tension. Napoleon didn’t envy him this one. Illya would have to do or say whatever it took to keep the couple safe.

‘And what a tangled web you will need to weave Illya,’ pondered Napoleon.

**********

Laslow and Salant entered the Café Morocco dressed up for a night on the town. If one didn’t know better, they might think the couple had not a care in the world except for the underlying tension in both of them. Things were indeed getting desperate.

Kuryakin happened to be at the front door when they came in. “Bonsoir.”

“Bonsoir. As you see, here we are again,” Laslow called in greeting. Illya didn’t miss that Ilsa looked very uncomfortable.

“I’ll take that as a great compliment to Sam.”

“Could we have a table close to him?” Ilsa spoke up.

“And as far away from Herr Strauser as possible,” Victor put in.

Illya signaled to a waiter. “Well the geography may be a little difficult to arrange… Emile, table 30.”

Soon after they were seated, Laslow left to search for Illya/Nick. He found him at the bar settling some accounts. “Monsieur Nick, I wondered if I could have a moment.”

“Go ahead,” Illya said not looking up.

“Well isn’t there some other place? It is rather confidential what I have to say.”

Illya looked up. Then he picked up his papers and took in a deep breath – what is to be done, will be done.

“My office.” Both men went up to the loft.

“You must know it is very important that I get out of Casablanca. It is my privilege to be one of the leaders of a great movement. You may not know what I’ve been doing. But you must know what it means to the lives of thousands and thousands of people if I’m free to reach America and continue my work.”

Illya deliberately sat down behind his desk and coldly faced the man he must stall at all costs. “I’m not interested in politics.”

“My friends in the city tell me that you’ve quite a reputation.”

“What of it.”

“It is said that you can be fair and reasonable and that you have been known to help out those in need.”

Kuryakin knew he was talking about his cover story. But that was just an act, a lie. Illya rose to pace and thought of impossible situations. He said, “That has been a very expensive hobby. But then I was never a good businessman.”

“Are you enough of a businessman to appreciate an offer of 100,000 francs for the Letters of Transit.”

“I appreciate it but I don’t accept it.”

Laslow pulled Kuryakin’s arm in mid pace, stopping him, “I raise it to 200,000.”

Kuryakin turned to hold a steady gaze at Laslow, preparing himself to use a stall that he knew from experience would work. “Monsieur you could make it a million francs or 3 my answer would still be the same.”

“There must be some reason why you won’t let me have them.”

“There is.” This is where Illya needed it to be very good, to call on all his acting skills, all his hardness. “I suggest that you ask your wife why I refuse.”

Stunned, Laslow questioned, “I beg your pardon?”

“I said ask your wife.”

“My wife?”

“Yes.”

Laslow stared, mystified at Nick’s totally unexpected explanation.

**********

The sound of singing caught the Café Manager’s ear. He went out of the room to the rail of the loft and looked down. It seemed that several of the Thrush thugs were a little drunk and began to sign a loud German military song. The packed café with so much of post war feelings around, and this being a French territory; the song was not going over too well.

Kuryakin locked eyes with Captain Renault who was observing the growing unrest; they both knew there would be trouble. Behind Illya, Laslow also came out to hear the singing. His jaw locked in a grim frown. He immediately went down to the main floor and over to the band that was just setting up. Gaining their attention, he directed them, “La Marseillaise. Play it!” He demanded they play the French National Anthem.

The band leader looked very apprehensive. He looked up at Nick for direction. Laslow followed the band leader’s gaze and saw Illya/Nick nod his permission. Again, the café manager surprised Laslow.

As the band began to play, Laslow led the entire café in the French song completely drowning out the Thrush, who eventually sat down quietly in defeat. All but Strauser. He rose to go over to Captain Renault. “You see what I mean? Laslow must be silenced. What more unrest would his presence in Casablanca bring on? I advise that this place be shut down at once.”

“But everybody’s having such a good time.”

“Yes, much too good a time. You will order this place closed!”

“But I’ve no excuse to close it,” the Police Captain tried again.

“Find one.” Strauser strode away, leaving Renault with a terrible frown on his face.

Renault yelled out to the crowd: “Everybody is to leave here immediately. This Café is closed until further notice.” Renault saw that Illya/Nick watched from the loft and that a grim look crossed his face.

Illya knew Renault had no choice just as he had no choice with Laslow. Returning to Morocco was a mistake. Seeing Ilsa again was a mistake. He truly didn’t know what he really felt for her but this was no time to analyze a relationship. There was a mission at stake and Illya always made duty a priority – whatever the cost to himself personally – even if he had to hurt Ilsa in the process. Impossible situations, he thought as he shook his head wearily.

**********

Strauser caught Ilsa Salant at her table. “Mademoiselle after this disturbance, it is not safe for Laslow to stay in Casablanca.”

Salant rose to confront Strauser with all the courage she had. “This morning you implied that it was not safe for him to leave Casablanca.”

“That is true, except for one destination. He could join Thrush.”

“Join Thrush?!”

“Yes, with my guarantee for his safety.”

“Of what value is that? You may recall what Thrush guarantees were worth in the past.”

Strauser’s anger rose at this show of resistance. “There are only two other alternatives for him.”

“And what are they?” Salant asked defiantly.

“There is a possibility that the Police will find a reason to put Herr Laslow in prison here.”

“And the other alternative?”

“My dear, perhaps you have already observed that in Casablanca, human life is cheap.” Strauser smiled like a snake. “Gute nacht, Mademoiselle.”

Ilsa went forward to quickly join up with Victor. She asked, “What happened with Nick?”

“We’ll discuss it later,” he said. She worried at his tone.


	9. Chapter 9

#### PART IX - _“It seems that Destiny has taken a hand.”_

The couple went back to their room at the hotel. Victor went quickly to the window to confirm they were still being followed – they were. “Our faithful friend is still there.”

“Victor, please don’t go to the underground meeting tonight.” Ilsa had told her husband of her conversation with Strauser and of his threats.

“I must. Besides it isn’t often that a man is able to display heroics before his wife.”

“No, don’t joke. After Strauser’s warning tonight, I am frightened.”

“To tell you the truth I am frightened too. Shall I remain here in our hotel room, hiding? Or shall I carry on the best I can.”

“What ever I’d say, you’d carry on.” Ilsa paused and then asked anxiously, “Victor why don’t you tell me about Nick? What did you find out?”

“Apparently he has the Letters.”

“Yes?” Hope showed in her face.

“But no intention of selling them.” Almost to himself, Victor mused, “One would think if idealism wouldn’t persuade him, money would have.”

“Well, did he give you any reason?” Victor was still watching out the window, his wife sat on the bedside.

Victor turned to his wife, “He suggested I ask you.”

“Ask me?!” Shocked, Ilsa leaned back.

“Yes, he said ‘Ask your wife.’ I don’t know why he said that.”

Ilsa turned away, her hand running nervously through her hair, trembling. Victor calmly moved to the wall and turned out the lights. “Well our friend outside will think we’ve retired by now. I’ll be going in a few minutes.”

He sat close to Ilsa on the bed. “Ilsa I … “

“Yes,” she replied distractedly.

“When I was in the concentration camp, were you lonely in Paris?

Ilsa hesitated, but looked directly at her husband. “Yes, I was,” she confessed.

“I know how it is to be lonely. Is there anything you wish to tell me?”

“No, Victor, there isn’t.”

His face softened as he took in her words, “I love you very much, my dear.”

They stared into each other’s eyes, “Yes. Yes, I know. Victor whatever I do will you believe that I…”

“You don’t even have to say it. I’ll believe. Good night Ilsa.” Victor kissed her cheek. With one last look into her eyes, he rose.

She called to him at the door, “Victor….”

“Yes dear?”

She ran to him, “Please, be careful.”

“Of course. I’ll be careful.” He kissed her again and left.

Ilsa ran to the window and watched him leave. Then she went and got her jacket and purse and left also.

**********

With the Café closed down and boarded up, Illya and the Professor went over the accounts. “Well we are in pretty good shape.”

“How long can we afford to stay closed?” Illya asked.

“Two weeks, maybe three.”

“Hmmm. Maybe we won’t have to. A bribe has worked before. In the meantime, everybody stays on salary.”

“Good. Sasha will be happy to hear it. I owe him money.” They both chuckled at the old joke.

“I’ll finish locking up. You go on to the Underground meeting with Napoleon.”

“Okay. I’ll keep a look out for Laslow. Napoleon is already there.”

“Good. Good night.”

“Good night, Illya.”

Illya rose to check the windows and doors on the first floor. When he was done, he went up the stairs to the room beyond the loft. He opened the door and froze. Someone was in the room. No, not just someone. Ilsa.

He closed the door, “And how did you get in?”

“The stairs from the street.”

“Won’t you sit down?” Illya forced his face to stone, his tone flat, without feeling.

“Nickoli, I had …”

“So, it is Nickoli again. We are back in Paris?” Illya was not surprised that Ilsa came but he had hoped to have spared her this, to have been spared himself. They still could not be sure Laslow wouldn’t turn over the Letters to the Underground that Berger was fronting so they needed to keep the couple in the dark until tomorrow night when the plane would leave. Stall for time, Napoleon had said. Shit.

“Please …” Ilsa reached for him but he passed her and went to the cabinet where he kept his Vodka and glasses.

“Your unexpected visit isn’t connected, by any chance, to the Letters of Transit,” the man asked with a cold hard voice. “It seems as long as I have those Letters I’ll never be lonely.”

Ilsa pressed, “You can ask any price you want but you must give me those Letters.”

“I went through all that with your husband. It is no deal.”

“I know how you feel about me but I’m asking you to put your feelings aside for something more important.”

“Do I have to hear again what a great man your husband is, what an important cause he’s fighting for?” Illya’s anger came from his tension, his own betrayal.  
“It was your cause too. Once. In your own way you both are fighting for the same thing.”

“I am not fighting for anything anymore, didn’t you know?” Illya walked away, over to open a window. It seemed oppressively hot in the room. He closed his eyes at his words – words he hated himself for saying but knew he was going to say worse. As she went to him, he forced his face to stone again.

“Nickoli, we loved each other once. If those days meant anything at all to you …” Ilsa pleaded.

He interrupted, “I wouldn’t bring up Paris if I were you. It is poor salesmanship.”

“Please, please listen to me.” She was crying openly now as she tried to stop his jokes. Why was he so flippant, so cold? “If you knew what really happened, if you only knew the truth.”

“I wouldn’t believe you no matter what you told me. You would say anything now to get what you want.” He was deliberately trying to shock her into stopping what she was doing but a part of him believed what he said.

She was stricken by his words. It was as if he was trying to stop her words, her pleading. She watched him stand so still, radiating heat as if on fire, missing that his anger was directed also at himself.

Her own voice turned to anger, “You want to feel sorry for yourself, don’t you! With so much at stake all you can think of is your own feelings. One woman has hurt you and you take your revenge on the rest of the world. You’re a … a coward and weak!”

His blue eyes were so calm as he took her insults. It stopped her.

She brought her hand to her mouth, “No. Nickoli, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry but you …you are our last hope. If you don’t help us Victor will die here.”

Turning to pick up his glass, he spoke so softly she hardly hear what he said, “What of it. Many of us die in Casablanca. It is a good spot for it.” Ilsa knew something was wrong with him but she couldn’t tell what. Never mind, she knew what she had to do.

“Now if you don’t mind leaving …” As he turned back, Illya saw the gun in Ilsa’s hand. As he remembered, she was a good shot.

“All right.” Her voice was steady, so was her gun hand. “I tried to reason with you. I tried everything. Now I want those Letters. Get them for me.”

Illya looked from the gun pointed at his chest, up to her hand, to her face. “I don’t have to, I have them right here.” He patted his inside jacket pocket.

“Put them on the table.”

A sad, quiet smile played on his lips, “No.”

She swallowed, “For the last time, put them on the table.”

“If Laslow and the cause mean so much to you, you won’t stop at anything.” Illya walked up to her until the gun was against his skin. “All right. I will make it easier for you. Go ahead and shoot. You will be doing me a favor.”

Their eyes locked in that moment until she closed hers as if in deep pain – she missed seeing the pain in his. “Nickoli, I tried to stay away. I thought I would never see you again. That you were out of my life.” A tear rolled slowly down her cheek. She turned away as if in agony but he took her in his arms instead.  
“That day I left Paris, if you only knew what I went through. If you knew how much I loved you.” She searched his eyes, his face, his mouth in remembrance.   
“How much I still love you,” she whispered to him. They kissed, softly at first, then deeper, harder; her lips were soft and hot, his were demanding and hungry. She came into him, surging with emotion. The soft sounds of their breathing joined in rhythm as did the rising pulse of their hearts. The passion of the moment flooded over them as they became one in each other’s arms. Trying to melt away the years apart.

**********

Later that night, the emotions were lessened by the physical release. Illya had distanced himself by standing over by the window, the air cool and clear. Ilsa was curled up on the couch, much calmer now. “And then…” he prompted.

“It wasn’t long after we were married that Victor went back to Czechoslovakia. They needed him in Prague but Thrush was waiting for him. I got word from the underground. Just two lines on a piece of paper; ‘Victor Laslow apprehended.’ He was sent to a German concentration camp.’ I was frantic. For months I tried to get word. Then it came. He was dead. He was shot trying to escape. I was so lonely. I had nothing, not even hope. Then I met you.” Ilsa watched Illya; his sad, hurt-filled eyes, the soft play of his blond hair against the single light. She had forgotten how vulnerable he could be.

“Why were you not honest with me? Why did you keep your marriage a secret?”

“It wasn’t my secret Nickoli. Victor wanted it that way. Not even our closest friends knew about our marriage. That was his way of protecting me. I knew so much about his work and if Thrush found out I was his wife, an U.N.C.L.E. agent – it would have been dangerous for me and those working with us.”

Illya came closer to her, his eyes caught hers, “And when did you first find out he was alive?”

“Just before you and I were to leave Paris together. A friend came and told me that Victor was alive. They were hiding him in a freight car in the outskirts of Paris. He was sick and he needed me. I wanted to tell you but I didn’t dare. That was why Thrush attacked the Paris office – looking for Victor.

Taking a breath, she continued, “I knew … I knew you would have been caught by Thrush if you followed me so I …. Well…” She let her head drop into her hands. “Well you know the rest.”

Illya sat next to her on the couch, searching her face. “It is still a story without an ending. What about now?”

“Now? I don’t know…” Ilsa shook her head and then she looked up into those blue eyes and she knew. “I know that I’ll never have the strength to leave you again.”

“And Laslow?”

She was so tired, “Oh you’ll help him now, Nickoli, won’t you? You’ll see that he gets out. Then he’ll have his work. That’s all he’s been living for.” She became restless.

“All except one. He won’t have you.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder, her arms around him. Illya stared at the floor, his arms embracing her, distracted in thought. Like the thought that she continued to call him by his Paris code name ‘Nickoli’.

“I can’t fight it any more. I ran away from you once; I can’t do it again. Ohhh, I don’t know what’s right anymore. You’ll have to think for both of us. For all of us.”

He looked up at her, “All right,” he said softly, “I will.”

“Oh Nickoli, I wish I didn’t love you so much.”

**********

Thrush cars passed by the outside of the dark Café Morocco. Solo and Laslow had just entered a downstairs entrance that Illya had kept unlocked for the agent.

“I think we lost them.” Solo said as he watched discreetly out a window.

“Good.” Laslow said. He was holding his arm to his side.

Seeing Laslow was badly shaken, Solo pulled him further into the café. “Come on. Let’s help ourselves of some of Nick’s brandy.”

Illya/Nick heard the noise downstairs and quickly rose to the office door. Quietly opening the door, he turned out the lights. Ilsa came up behind him in question but he gently pushed her back. Cat-like he went out the door and closed it after him. At the loft rail he looked down and saw the two men at the bar. “Napoleon. What happened?”

Both men jumped at the unexpected voice but Solo answered, “Thrush came to the meeting. We escaped at the last moment.”

“Napoleon, come up here a moment.” Napoleon looked up, something in Illya’s look caught him. Already they could read each other. Something else was up. Napoleon moved to the stairs.

Illya opened the office door and moved aside. In the light from the hall Napoleon saw Ilsa standing in the center of the room, her faced marked with recent tears. Illya whispered, “I want you to take Miss Salant back to her hotel. Keep her safe, Napoleon.”

“You’re sure?”

“I am sure.”

Napoleon looked at the woman and then at the man he found he did trust, “All right.” They left by the same door Ilsa had used earlier.

Illya moved down the stairs, going to the bar. He found Laslow wrapping his arm with a towel. At Nick’s look, Victor said, “It is nothing. Just a little cut. We had to get through a window.”

“Well this might come in handy.” Illya reached for the brandy to use as an antiseptic. He also poured Laslow a drink. Victor drank it down while Nick finished cleaning and wrapping the arm.

“Thank you.”

“This was a close one,” Nick commented while pouring them both a drink.

“Yes, rather!”

“Laslow, U.N.C.L.E. knew that Berger was not one of your underground. They were watching over you, protecting you from yourself.”

“But he had the ring!” Laslow said.

“He took it from the real Underground contact. It is easy enough.”

“How do you know of this?”

“Let’s just say I know. You should have trusted U.N.C.L.E.”

It was not easy for Laslow to hear Kuryakin’s words but he was a truthful man. “Yes, I see this now. In my worry to get away from Casablanca, I was not careful. I shall endeavor to be more careful.”

“Don’t you sometimes wonder if it is worth all this? I mean what you are fighting for?”

Victor answered, “You might as well question why we breathe. If you stop breathing – you die. If we stop fighting our enemies – the world will die.”

“Well what of it. The world will be out of his misery.”

“You know how you sound Nick? Like a man who is trying to convince himself of something he doesn’t believe in his heart. Each of us has a destiny, for good or for evil.”

“Yes, I get the point,” unsatisfied, Nick easily passed this by.

“I wonder if you do,” Victor said, stopping him. “I wonder if you know you are trying to escape from yourself and that you will never succeed.”

“You seem to know all about my destiny.”

“I know a good deal more about you than you suspect. I know for instance that you are in love with a woman. It’s perhaps a strange circumstance that we should both be in love with the same woman.” This caught Illya by surprise. “Since the first evening that I came here to this café, I knew there was something between you and Ilsa. Since no one is to blame I… I demand no explanation.” Laslow turned to Illya/Nick. “I ask only one thing. If you won’t give me the Letters of Transit, all right. But I want my wife to be safe. I ask you as a favor to use the Letters to take her away from Casablanca.”

“You love her that much?”

“Apparently you only think of me as a leader of a cause. Well, I’m also a human being.” Victor paused. He saw that this man would only accept the truth. “Yes, I love her that much.”

At that moment the Police busted in the doors to the Café Morocco. The room filled with armed soldiers, their guns at the ready. There was nothing either man could do but put their hands up in surrender.

“Monsieur Laslow?” called out one of the officers.

“Yes.”

“You’ll come with us. We have a warrant for your arrest. You too, Monsieur Nick.”

“On what charge?” asked Laslow.

“Captaine Renault will discuss that with you later.”

As they were led away in handcuffs, Illya noted “It seems that Destiny has taken a hand of its own.”


	10. Chapter 10

#### PART X - _“That is my least vulnerable spot.”_

That morning found Kuryakin being questioned by Louie Renault himself in the Police Captain’s own office. Solo had come to bail him out and joined them in the office.

“You’ve arrested the two on the simple charge of breaking curfew but you haven’t any actual proof and you know it.” Solo explained to Renault. Kuryakin sat in the chair beside Renault’s desk while Solo paced. “Last I looked this was not a Police State. All you can do is fine Laslow a few thousand francs and give him 30 days. You might as well let him go now.”

Renault turned to look to Kuryakin. “Nick, I’d advise you not to be too interested in what happens to Monsieur Laslow. If by any chance you were to help him in any way …”

“What makes you think I would stick my neck out for Laslow?”

“Because for one you bet me 10,000 francs he would escape.” Solo gave a surprised glance at his suddenly innocent looking partner. “Two, you have the Letters of Transit … now don’t bother to deny it. And, well, you might do it just because you don’t like Herr Strauser. As a matter of fact, I don’t like him either.” Both men chuckled and it broke the tension.

Illya rubbed his eyes; it had been a long evening and an even longer night in jail. But this was now getting very dangerous. “Well, all excellent reasons, Louie.”

“Don’t count too much on my friendship, Nick.” Renault continued as Solo looked on. “In this matter I’m powerless. Besides I might lose the 10,000 francs you bet me.” Kuryakin saw their options were fast fading away. His glance to Solo spoke volumes between them. If there was any hope to accomplish the mission, he would have to act fast. Looking up, Illya saw that Napoleon understood almost his very thoughts. Amazing to Illya that he knew immediately and that he knew Solo would play along. However, more importantly right now, he needed Renault’s help, even if Renault would not realize it.

“Alright Louie. You are not very subtle, but you are effective,” Rick said. “I get the point. Yes, I do have the Letters. But I intend to use them for myself. I’m leaving Casablanca on tonight’s plane, the last plane to America.”

“What’s this?” Renault was skeptical.

“And I am taking a friend with me. One I know you would appreciate.”

Renault leaned forward in his chair. “What friend?”

“Ilsa Salant. That should put your mind to rest about my helping Laslow escape. He’s the last man I will want to see in America.”

Solo smiled at the Captain innocently. Renault sat back smoking his smelly French cigarette, watching both men. Finally, he spoke, “You didn’t just decide to tell me this. You have the Letters of Transit. You can fill in your name and hers and leave anytime you please.”

Renault rose from his chair, still watching. “Why are you still interested in what happens to Laslow?” Solo let Kuryakin take on the conversation. He knew exactly where Illya was going and he had to admire his courage. He wasn’t sure Illya could pull this off but Napoleon felt strongly, his partner deserved his help. The American surprised himself as he discovered he now thought of Illya as his partner.

“I don’t care a lick about Laslow but I am interested in what happens to Ilsa and me. We have a legal right to go, that is true but people have been held in Casablanca in spite of their legal rights.” Renault looked sharply at Solo and then Rick, smarting at those words.

“What makes you think we would want to hold you?”

“Maybe not hold Nick but Ilsa,” Solo put in. “Ilsa is Laslow’s wife. She probably knows things that Strauser would like to know.”

Renault pounded his fist on the desk, “Merde! His wife!”

Now for the next gamble. Illya leaned forward in his chair, “Louie, I’ll make a deal with you. Instead of this petty charge you have against him, you can get something really big, something to set him in prison for years. It would be quite a feather in your cap would it not?”

Renault watched Illya, “It certainly would. Moroccan Administration would be very … grateful.”

“Then release him. You be at the Café Morocco at least a half an hour before the plane leaves tonight. I will arrange to have Laslow come there to pick up the stolen Letters of Transit and that will give you the criminal grounds in which to make the arrest. You get him and we get away. Thrush, at last, will be just a minor annoyance.”

“There is still something about this business that I don’t quite understand. Madam Salant, she is very beautiful, yes. But Rick, you were never interested in any woman before.”

Illya sighed, this was costing too much. He dared not look at Napoleon. He would see how much it was really costing him. “She isn’t just any woman. I knew her in Paris, years ago.”

“I see.” Louie said thoughtfully. “How do I know you’ll keep your end of the bargain?”

“I’ll make the arrangements right now with Laslow in the visitor’s pen.”

Renault chuckled, “Nick, I’m going to miss you. Apparently, you’re the only one in Casablanca who has even less scruples than I.”

“Hmmm. Thanks.”

“Go ahead, Nick, Mr. Solo.” Renault buzzed the café manager through to the visitor’s pen.

As Illya passed through he said, “By the way, call off your watch dogs when you let him go. I don’t want them around this afternoon. I’m taking no chances, Louie. Not even with you.”

**********

Later that day, Illya and the Professor were having a final drink at the empty café. As things were liable to get very hot for Kuryakin and Solo soon, one way or another, it was decided that the Professor would stay behind and run the Café.

“Should we draw up papers or is a handshake good enough,” the Professor chuckled.

“Certainly not good enough, but since I’m in a hurry it will have to do.” Illya quipped.

“Ahh, to get out of Casablanca and return to civilization, you’re a lucky man.” The Professor would have to admit that Illya looked anything but happy.

“Oh by the way, Napoleon said that Sam is staying on. And Emile and Sasha are staying on as well.”

“Of course, they stay. It wouldn’t be the Café Morocco without them.”

The Professor rose to his feet dramatically. “This has been a most rewarding assignment, Mr. Kuryakin. It has been a pleasure to work under your management.” Illya smiled at the friendship that had grown over the last few months. Maybe he could learn to trust and just maybe there were people that he could find to trust. Napoleon had sure shown him that but his heart had grown dark over the past few days with Ilsa.

“If all goes well, the Café should be back in business soon.”

“To all going well.” The Professor raised his glass in a toast to a friend. Touched, Illya returned the toast.

”Do svidaniya. And don’t forget you owe the Café 100 francs in gambling debts.”

“I shall remember to pay it to myself, one day.”

**********

It was early evening. The Café Morocco looked deserted and dark with the ‘Closed by Order of the Prefect of the Police’ sign on the door. Illya and Napoleon were seated upstairs at the desk in the office going over the final details. The Letters of Transit were on the table.

“The airport is all set,” Napoleon said. Illya nodded; it seemed so natural to trust Napoleon to take care of his part of the plan.

Pushing over a box towards the American, he said, “Here is more ammunition. I wouldn’t want you to run out at the wrong time.”

“No problem. I know you would use some of your explosives to back me up.”

Illya sighed in mock suffering. “Explosives are expensive, Napoleon. And U.N.C.L.E. will not reimburse me if I can not justify the use.” Napoleon smiled. But he saw that his friend was nearly at the edge of his energy. Not sleeping well and a night in jail didn’t help. The emotional drain of the past few days was taking its toll.

Napoleon noticed that their banter helped against the adrenalin for both of them but he also noticed an edginess in Illya. He could tell his friend was worried. They would need luck and skill to bring off this plan successfully.

“So, what’s this about you betting Renault 10,000 francs on Laslow’s escape?” The American’s eyes raked over the Russian.

Kuryakin shrugged, “Louie seemed very sure he could prevent it. I couldn’t very well let that go, now could I.”

Solo chuckled. “I’ll bet you 10,000 francs the Captain does not tip off Thrush.”

Shaking his head, Illya said seriously, “He will. Just as everyone does in time”.

“Illya, you have become cynical in your old age.”

Illya half closed his eyes, “And you are too brazen with your money, my friend.”

**********

They both froze as they heard a knock on the front door. Grabbing the Letters, Kuryakin went down to unlock the door as Solo cleaned up the room and went into hiding.

“You are late.” Illya said back into his ‘Nick’ persona.

Renault entered. “I was informed just as Laslow was about to leave the hotel so I knew I’d be on time.”

“I thought I asked you to tie up your watchdog? “

“Oh, Laslow won’t be followed here.” As they moved into the room, Renault looked around the empty café. “You know this place will not be the same without you Nick.”

“Yes, I know what you mean. But I’ve already spoken to the Professor. You’ll still win at Roulette.”

“Hah! So sure that I will re-open the Café? Well maybe that can be arranged” Renault smiled at the joke and at the courtesy extended. Rubbing his hands together in anticipation he added, “Is everything ready?”

Illya/Nick nodded. “I have the Letters right here in my pocket.”

“Tell me, when we searched the place where were they?”

“Sam’s piano.”

Renault chuckled. “Serve’s me right for not being musical.”

Both men heard the noise of a car driving up outside. “Here they are. You better wait in my office.”

Renault hurried up the stairs.

Ilsa was first through the front door, grabbing Illya, clearly distressed, “Nickoli. Victor thinks I’m leaving with him. Haven’t you told him?”

“No, not yet.”

“But it’s all right, isn’t it? You were able to arrange everything?” Words came tumbling out of her anxiously. Fear and dread flooding within her, feeding her nerves.

“Everything is quite all right.” Illya tried to calm her. “We will tell him at the airport. Less time to think and easier for all of us. Please trust me.” He held her with his eyes, his touch.

Ilsa stopped. “…yes, I will,” she said softly.

Illya left Ilsa and went over to the door to meet Laslow as he came in. “Nick, I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Save it. We still have lots of things to do.”

“I’ve brought the money.”

“Keep it. You will need it in America.” Ilsa watched as the two men talked. She thought she would go insane with the waiting and watching. But something was up. Nickoli would not look at her.

“But we made a deal,” Laslow persisted.

“Never mind that. You won’t have any trouble in New York, will you?”

“No, it’s all arranged by U.N.C.L.E. through Mr. Solo.”

“Good. I have the Letters right here. They are prepared and certified. All we have to do is fill in the signatures.”

As Victor took the offered papers, Renault, gun in hand, called as he descended down the stairs, “Victor Laslow. You are under arrest – on the charge of accessory to the murder of the couriers from whom these Letters were stolen.” Victor and Ilsa were shocked at the turn of events, starring at each other, at Renault as he took their precious Letters, and finally they stared at Illya/Nick.

Seeing the terrible hatred of betrayal in the looks from Victor and Ilsa to Illya, Renault commented, “Oh, I see you’re surprised about Monsieur Nick. The explanation is quite simple. Love, it seems, has triumphed over virtue.”

Renault turned to Illya/Nick only to see Solo standing in the alcove holding a gun on him. “Not so fast Louie. Nobody’s going to be arrested. Not for a while yet.”

“Have you taken leave of your senses?” Renault demanded.

“I have. Now please sit down over by the bar.”

Suddenly two uniformed police came into the café from the back door. Renault started to move toward Solo.

“Put that gun down.” Kuryakin stepped in front of Renault, his own gun aimed at the Captain. Solo had already turned to halt the two policemen. The agents worked in concert as if backing each other up was something they did casually everyday. It was clear to all that the agents were together and were in control.   
“Louie, I wouldn’t like to shoot you but I will if you take one more step.” Illya cautioned.

Seeing his men and himself overmatched, Renault sighed, “Under the circumstances, I will sit down.”

Solo explained, “I was sent here to meet with Victor Laslow and hopefully retrieve the information he escaped from THRUSH with. Illya Kuryakin here, whom you know as Nick, is also an U.N.C.L.E. agent.” Laslow and Renault looked at the café manager in surprise.

“I should have known!” scoffed Renault.

“Keep your hands on the table,” Kuryakin said as he came up and took Renault’s gun. Solo moved the other two officers behind Renault and relieved them of their guns.

Renault demanded, “I suppose you know what you are doing, but I wonder if you realize what this means.”

“I do but we will have plenty of time to discuss that later.” Solo and Kuryakin worked together to restrain the two officers.

“Call off your watch dogs, you said,” Renault sneered accusingly. “I have a plan, you said.” He was terribly hurt at the betrayal.

“Just the same, you will call the airport and let me hear you tell them to let us through.” Illya ordered. “And remember this gun is pointed right at your heart.”

“That is my least vulnerable spot,” said Renault angrily.

Hesitating, Renault grabbed the phone. He dialed as Kuryakin put the Letters back in his pocket. Turning, Illya gave a small nod to Napoleon. The look between them was hardly noticeable by the others in the room.

“Hello?” Renault spoke into the phone. “Is this the airport? This is Captaine Renault speaking. I will be delivering two Letters of Transit for the American plane. There is to be no trouble about them. Do you understand …. Good.”

On the other side of the phone line, Herr Strauser replied, “Just get them to the airport. I’ll be there.” Renault had called Thrush instead of the airport.

Strauser buzzed Houstedler, “My car, quickly.” Speaking into the phone again, “This is Strauser. Have an assault team meet me at the airport at once. Also contact the police and have them come. At once do you hear?”


	11. Chapter 11

#### PART XI – _“Round up the usual suspects.”_

The small Casablanca airport was deep in a thick fog and the night was moonless and cold. The night watchman spoke to the tower over the local phone, “Calling Tower. The American plane will be taking off in 10 minutes. East runway. Visibility 1 and 1 half kilometers. Light calm fog. Depth of fog approximately 500. Ceiling limited. Over and out.” The man moved to the hanger door as he watched a car approach.

“Louie, have your men go with Laslow and take care of his luggage,” Illya called jumping from the car as he moved away from the group to confirm the area was secure. Solo stayed to cover Renault.

“Certainly Agent. Anything you say.” Angrily Renault turned to the Airport official, “Find Monsieur’s luggage and put it on the plane.”

“This way please,” the official told Laslow. With a questioning look to Ilsa, Victor turned to follow the man. Ilsa, her heart racing tried to follow what was happening. She watched Solo and Renault with apprehension but she watched Nickoli with fear as he walked back to the hanger.

Solo handed the Letters of Transit to Renault, pressing him with his gun but always with a smile. “If you don’t mind, you could fill in the names. That will make it even more official.”

“You think of everything don’t you.” Renault went to a nearby desk with a nasty smile on his face.

Solo added, “Fill it in with the names of Mr. and Mrs. Victor Laslow.” Renault stopped and abruptly turned first to Solo, then to Kuryakin.

Ilsa turned quickly away and ran to where Illya stood. “But …. why my name Nickoli?”

“Because you are getting on that plane.”

“I don’t understand? What about you? “

“I’m staying here with Louie and Napoleon until the plane gets safely away.”

“No,” Ilsa cried out in pain, “Nickoli no. What has happened to you? Last night you said ….”

“Last night we said a great many things. You said I was to do the thinking for both of us. Yes, well, I have done a lot of thinking since then and it all adds up to one thing. You are getting on that plane with Victor, where you belong.”

Ilsa shook her head with heart-breaking fear. “No, Nickoli, no. I …”

“You’ve got to listen to me.” Illya’s voice was deadly quiet and his tone got through her panic because Ilsa stopped, listening, transfixed on the man before her.

“Do you have any idea what you have to look forward to if you stayed with me? Nine chances out of ten we would both end up in a Thrush prison. Isn’t that true Napoleon?”

“I’m afraid Herr Strauser would insist.”

She shook her head, tears falling. “You’re saying this only to make me go.”

“I’m saying this because it is true. Inside we both know you belong with Victor. You are part of his work, the thing that keeps him going. If that plane leaves the ground and you are not on it, you will regret it.” Ilsa protested but Illya continued. “Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life.”

“But what about us?”

“We will always have Paris. We didn’t have, we … I lost it until you came to Casablanca. We got it back last night.”

Ilsa smiled her beautiful, sad smile, “When I said I would never leave you.”

“And you never will.” Illya replied softly. “Have you noticed? You still call me Nickoli. You know that was just my cover name in Paris. You never have called me Illya, my real name, even now. Maybe that is more telling than anything else.”

Illya looked away for a moment and then resolutely turned back, “But I’ve got a job to do too. And where I am going you can not follow and what I’ve got to do you can not be any part of. Ilsa, I am no good at being noble but it does not take much to see that the problems of three people don’t amount to much in this crazy world. Someday I hope you will understand that.” Ilsa dropped her head as the tears rolled down her soft face.

“Now, now… “Illya said gently as he reached out and lifted her chin to look at him.

**********

“Illya, Thrush is on their way,” Napoleon called out across the tarmac. Sasha, on watch at the airport gate, had just checked in. The U.N.C.L.E. agents knew that Renault had called Thrush and were ready. They had stationed Sasha and Emile at the airport earlier that day in preparation.

Kuryakin moved over to Renault and collected the Letters he had just signed.

Laslow came up beside them. “Everything is in order?” Seeing Kuryakin had things in hand, Solo left to check on the other arrangements.

“All except one thing,” Kuryakin said. Laslow waited. Renault turned to watch the café manager closely. Things were moving fast and Renault no longer thought he understood what was really going on.

“There is something you should know before you leave.”

“Monsieur Kuryakin, I don’t ask you to explain anything,” Victor said.

“I am going to anyway because it may make a difference to you later on. You said you knew about Ilsa and I.”

“Yes.”

“But you did not know she was at my place last night when you were there. She came there for the Letters of Transit. Isn’t that true Ilsa?”

Ilsa was caught off guard by Illya’s disclosure but she saw in his eyes what he was about to say. “Yes.”

“She tried everything to get them from me and nothing worked,” Kuryakin explained. “She did her best to convince me that she was still in love with me. But that was all over long ago. For your sake, she pretended it wasn’t and I let her pretend.”

“I … I understand.”

“Good. Here are your papers,” Kuryakin said as he handed over the Letters to Laslow.

“Thank you. I appreciate it.” Victor offered his hand. “Welcome back to the fight, Illya. This time I know our side will win. Oh, by the way. Please give Mr. Solo this sealed envelope of information. U.N.C.L.E. may find it useful.”

Illya took the envelope and nodded as he shook Victor’s hand.

Laslow stopped and frowned with a thought. “Wait. There was an operative, deep underground in Berlin. He was one of the names Strauser wanted badly. But that name was ….”

Illya just watched silently.

“The name, it was a Russian name,” Laslow said. “So that is how U.N.C.L.E. found out about Berger! Does U.N.C.L.E. know about you?”

“Hmmm. It was just a hobby. On my own time so to speak.”

“Yes, I see.” Victor nodded in silent salute.

The plane’s turbines revved up and the propellers were at high pitch. It was time to go.

“Are you ready Ilsa?” Victor asked.

Ilsa looked calmly at Illya and spoke to Victor. “Yes, I’m ready. Good bye…..Illya.”

She whispered for his ears only “God bless you”.

“You had better hurry. You will miss that plane.” The flat tone was back in Illya’s voice as the shutter on his thoughts closed to her. He watched them board.

**********

“Well I was right. You are a sentimentalist.” Solo moved up close behind his fellow agent at the same time he reminded Renault without turning, “Ah, ah, ah. Stay where you are.”

Kuryakin turned distractedly to the American. “I don’t know what you are talking about..…”

“What you just did for Laslow and that fairy tale you invented to send Ilsa away with him. I know a little about women, my friend. She went. But she knew you were lying.” The hazel eyes confronted the blue eyes and the message was not denied but not answered either.

“Here,” Illya gave an envelope to Napoleon. “This is the information that Laslow was carrying.” Kuryakin then turned to Renault, needing to shake off the moment, “Thanks for helping us out.”

Renault smiled, “I suppose you know this isn’t going to be pleasant for either of us, especially for you Illya. I’ll have to arrest you of course.”

“As soon as the plane goes, Louie.”

Just then Strauser drove up. He ignored the two other men and confronted Renault “What is the meaning of that phone call!” Houstedler drove up in a second car with a few Thrush guards tumbling out. Solo moved off to the shadows.

“Victor Laslow is on that plane,” Renault pointed. Perplexed, Strauser turned and saw a plane taxi down the runway.

“Why do you stand here? Why don’t you stop him?!” he demanded, red with anger.

“Ask Monsieur Nick.” Renault smiled slyly, turning to the agent.

Strauser glanced over at the café manager and badly underestimated the situation and the man. After telling the Thrush guards and Houstedler to spread out and secure the airfield, Strauser moved over to the hanger desk and the phone to the tower.

“Get away from that phone,” ordered Kuryakin. His voice had a command tone that caught the head of Thrush by surprise but he was not dissuaded.

“I would advise you not to interfere Herr Nick.”

“I am quite willing to shoot you.” Strauser only then noticed Kuryakin’s gun. Not the gun of an amateur. An U.N.C.L.E. special issue.

Strauser raised his eyebrows in alarm. He glanced across the air field as he heard gun fire, they were being ambushed. In the confusion, he quickly grabbed the phone. “Hello!”

“Put that phone down.” Kuryakin’s voice was as cold as ice.

“Give me the airfield tower!”

“Put… it… down.”

Strauser drew out his gun – both shot at once. Strauser fell back against the desk and then to the ground, the bullet hit him dead center. Renault quickly checked Strauser – dead of course. Then he noticed Nick had fallen against the car. Renault was at his side.

Illya/Nick was breathing heavy with the pain, “I am fine. Just got my arm is all.” They both heard the violence at the far end of the airfield but soon it was silenced. Solo and Emile emerged from the shadows having subdued the Thrush operatives.

Just then the Casablanca Police van drove up, “Mon Capitaine.” They saluted Renault.

“Herr Strauser’s been shot.” Renault looked over at Kuryakin and hesitated. Solo came up beside his friend and partner in protection.

Renault sighed at the circumstances and turned to his officer, “It is another crime in a city full of criminals. Round up the usual suspects.”

“Oui, mon Capitaine.”

“Oh, I wonder if your men could take charge of Herr Strauser’s guards,” asked Solo. “Disturbing the peace, you know.” Renault looked at both men, smiled in comradeship and nodded. The officer took charge and began to remove the bodies.

“I will miss our little games, gentlemen. It has been stimulating. You are an interesting man Monsieur Nick. My compliments Monsieur Solo. Au revoir.”

Renault joined his men as they drove away.

**********

Solo turned and pushed his partner down to sit in a chair beside the hanger door. He then gently pulled up the sleeve of Illya’s jacket. Seeing that it was a minor wound, he quickly wrapped the arm with a makeshift bandage. “Well Illya, you’ve not only become a sentimentalist but now you’ve become a patriot also.”

His fellow agent dipped his head in acknowledgement. “Well it seemed like a good time to start.”

“I think perhaps you’re right.” They both watched as the plane bound for America took off and was lost in the fog.

“It might be a good idea,” Solo continued as he helped his partner up and they both strolled back to the car, “for us to disappear from Casablanca. There is a boat leaving for France tonight. You’ll be happy to know I have arranged for pleasant passage.”

“By Letter of Transit?” Illya asked, a small twinkle in his eye.

Solo nodded, grinning, “I could use a little vacation.”

Illya’s look became distracted. He stumbled a bit and it was a good to have a partner to help him as they walked together. “About our bet. You owe me 10,000 francs.”

“That 10,000 francs should just about pay for our expenses.”

“Our expenses?” Illya scoffed as they walked through the fog.

Napoleon chuckled at his friend.

He stopped and turned to his partner, “Illya, I think this may be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

_“It’s still the same old story_

_A fight for love and glory_

_A case of do or die_

_The world will always welcome lovers_

_As time goes by.”_

**********

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been one of the 'silent majority' for many years - loving your stories, in awe of your artistry and wonderful imagination - truly work that could stand beside any professional. I remember so well the many adventures that you have shared from perwinkle27, st_crispins, A.J. Burfield, Lee the T, Kellie Matthews, Charlie Kirby, Liza Jones, Mustang, Nataliya, RAC, Rosemary, Saki, Taliesin, Linda Cornett, vysila, Svetlanacat4, spikesgirl58, and North Coast Publishing - Lisa Madden (just to name a few).  
Thank you all so much for the hours of enjoyment and a glimpse into the joy of writing.  
\- Redd2

**Author's Note:**

> First time poster - long time fan. So glad to finally enter the fray!


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